Ambrosia
by wintryone
Summary: The Hawkes are a family of wealth and privilege in Kirkwall, yet eldest daughter Amber prefers the company of her Lowtown friends. While her father struggles to maintain peace between Gallows and Circle, adventurous Hawke discovers some of Kirkwall's darker secrets, including an apostate mage with secrets of his own. AU. Chapters 1-8, co-written with Fenzev.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Put two obsessed writers together, and interesting things always happen! The idea for this story popped up during random conversation, and within hours we had this tale plotted and the first chapter written. I swear, it is truly like magic! We are already in love with this story, and hope you enjoy it, too! Let us know what you think - you know how we love to hear from you! **_

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**CHAPTER ONE**

"No, I forbid it," Leandra said imperiously. "You will not leave the house looking like that."

"Mother, I am of age," Hawke replied, as she buckled the last strap on her new leathers and smoothed her hands down over her hips. They fit her perfectly, and she couldn't wait to show Varric. "You can't tell me what to do anymore."

"I don't care how old you are, Ambrosia," Leandra said, trying to keep her voice calm, but Hawke could see the color blooming in her cheeks. "You are a Hawke. Nobility. What will the Reinhardts think if they see you dressed in... whatever that is."

"Don't call me that," said Hawke. "Why can't you call me Amber, like everyone else?"

Leandra ignored her daughter's complaint and pointed her finger up the grand staircase. "You will go upstairs and put on clothes that befit your station. Right this minute."

As if Leandra's finger had summoned her, Bethany appeared at the top of the stairway. As she descended, her mother smiled. Bethany certainly knew how to behave, and she always looked so proper, so beautiful. Her blue satin robes were impeccable, her dark hair coiffed in perfect curls that spilled artfully down her back. Bethany's carriage was that of a lady - her posture perfect, her elegant hand trailing lightly down the banister as she approached them.

"I won't," insisted Hawke, as she checked the straps of her daggers to make sure they were secure. Despite her mother's constant objections, Hawke had been training with her blades since her tenth birthday, when she'd received them as a gift from her beloved father.

"What won't she do now?" asked Bethany, eyeing her older sister's apparel with some distaste.

"She's going out, dressed like that," Leandra said as she took Bethany's hand. "Why she can't be more like..." Leandra quickly stopped her words and glanced back at Hawke.

"It's no secret," Hawke said. "Why can't I be more like Bethany, right?" Hawke shook her head, but there was a smile curving her lips. She wasn't jealous of her younger sister - she felt sorry for the coddled way Leandra treated her.

"What would your father think if he saw you dressed like this?" Leandra tried as a final appeal. She knew full well that her eldest daughter only ever cared what Malcolm thought. Her own efforts to control Hawke always came to nothing.

Approaching footsteps caused all three woman to turn their heads toward the vestibule. In walked Malcolm Hawke, dressed in his formal black robes, a long, silver staff at his back. "I think it's fine, if that's what Amber chooses to wear," he said, smiling at his daughter. She skipped across the floor and threw her arms around his neck.

"Hello, daddy dearest," Hawke said, and smacked him on the cheek with a loud kiss.

"Hello to you, daughter," he said as he wrapped her in his embrace. They hugged tightly for a moment before Hawke pulled away.

"I'm going to meet Varric," she told him. "Need anything from Lowtown while I'm out?"

"No time to sit and have a meal with your family?" Malcolm asked playfully.

"Tomorrow, I promise," she said as she moved to the door. "Don't wait up!"

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The stench of stale ale and poorly cooked stew were welcoming aromas to Hawke as she entered the Hanged Man. She felt more at home here than in her actual home; the grime and smoke so much more comfortable than the pristine walls and fancy furniture of the Hawke estate. While she loved her family, there was something to be said about the company of friends, who appreciated her for herself. None of them cared that her last name was Hawke, or that her mother was of the _Amell line._

She spotted Varric sitting in his usual corner, chatting with the locals about some story he no doubt created that morning. Hawke loved listening to his tales of adventure; it was one of the reasons she adored hanging out with him. The dwarf always had something up his sleeve to keep the boredom away, and she had high hopes that tonight would be no different.

"And then, wait for it... Isabela came out of the shadows and completely distracts the man with her breasts! He never knew what hit him, poor bastard." Varric shook his head as if he could hardly believe it himself. "She nearly sliced off his leg. It was beautiful!"

Hawke smiled as she approached the table. Varric's telling of last night's adventure was more exuberant than she remembered the actual event had been. He noticed her approach and offered her a wide grin in return.

"Did you get to the part where I distracted the other thugs by kissing Isabela?" she asked.

"And here I was, saving that for the epic climax!" Varric said, faking his disappointment very cleverly. "Oh well, I guess storytime's over folks."

Isabela pouted. "The kiss was the best part of that tale," she said, winking at Hawke.

Hawke joined Varric and Isabela, once the eager listeners had begrudgingly departed, but not before they'd taken a long look at both Hawke and Isabela. Hawke was certain she knew what images those boys were conjuring in their minds, and she rolled her eyes. "Sorry Varric, maybe I should've left that for you to tell."

"I doubt they want to hear it, as much as see it," he responded with a chuckle, and gestured to Norah to bring over another drink. "I gotta say, the new threads look good on you, Rosebud. Bianca approves."

"I'm glad your crossbow appreciates a nice set of armor," Hawke joked, adjusting her gloves. "My mother, of course, wasn't too thrilled."

"Uh oh," Varric said, sensing a story.

Hawke nodded, before resting her head on Isabela's shoulder. "You know Mother, always trying to create the perfect noble daughter. One wearing finely crafted dwarven armor doesn't exactly fit that description."

"Isn't Sunshine enough for her?" Varric asked, referring to Bethany by the nickname he'd given her. Varric was fond of her entire family, even her mother, to Hawke's constant disbelief. The first time he'd met Hawke's younger sister, he'd said, _Why look at you, like a glimpse of sunshine on a gloomy day._

"Apparently not," she sighed. "So, I'm hoping you have something for us to do tonight? I could use a distraction."

Varric shook his head. "Nope, sorry. But if you're bored, you could rescue your brother over there."

Hawke groaned before casting a glance in the direction Varric had nodded. "Not again," she said. It seemed every other night she was helping her brother out of a scrape.

Carver's mop of dark hair was easy to spot in the crowd of men huddled around a table in the far corner. From the looks of it, there was a very intense game of Serpents going on, and the expression on her brother's face made it obvious that he was not doing well. Next to him sat their uncle, Gamlen Amell, looking just as anxious as his nephew. She watched as he took a long sip of his drink, and then nervously ran a hand through his hair.

"How long has this been going on?" Hawke asked.

"Hours," Isabela told her. "And your brother has a filthier mouth on him than most of the men I've sailed with." She paused, and a wide smile spread over her face. "Doesn't mean I wouldn't mind a taste, though."

Hawke wrinkled her nose. "Really Isabela? That's my brother, and oh so gross."

Isabela laughed. "For you maybe," she said, eyeing the younger sibling. "Unfortunately, he always smells like a brewery."

"Gamlen's influence," Hawke said. "That uncle of mine is a thorn in the family's side. I'm amazed my father continues to support him, the way he goes through coin. Carver will end up just like him, if he isn't careful."

Norah arrived with her drink, and Hawke took a long, slow pull on the watery ale. She forced herself to look away from her brother, not wanting to see the outcome of his latest hand. As she scanned the rest of the crowd of the Hanged Man, the front door swung open, and Hawke watched curiously to see if it was someone she knew.

A tall man, dressed in odd robes, entered the room. The feathers on his shoulders caught her eye first, and then her gaze drifted to his face. Handsome enough, with his golden hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a dusting of stubble across his chin. She watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly uncomfortable in his surroundings. An apostate of some sort? Brave of him to walk around the city dressed like that. In Kirkwall, only her father and sister dared to flaunt their freedom, but they had the protection of her father's influence.

Who was this man?

The stranger began walking toward them, and Hawke took another sip of her drink, nerves suddenly flooding her belly. Isabela leaned forward on the table, displaying her enormous cleavage for his inspection.

"I'm supposed to meet a dwarf, you him?" asked the golden-haired man.

Varric laughed. "See any other dwarves here, my friend?"

"No," the man responded, his voice carrying a soft accent that Hawke couldn't place. "But then again, the air in here is making my eyes water."

"You'll soon get used to that." Varric rose from the table and made a slight bow. "If you two ladies will excuse me, and I use the term loosely for you Isabela, I have business to attend to."

"Varric," Isabela purred. "You're such a tease. Aren't you going to introduce us to your handsome new friend?"

Retrieving his crossbow from where she rested against the wall, Varric shook his head. "My room's right upstairs," he told the stranger. "It's much quieter and has fewer distractions."

Hawke had remained silent during the interaction, staring into the man's coppery eyes. They were soft, gentle, but there was also a hint of mystery in their depths. She was fascinated, and that surprised her. When his gaze met hers, she quickly turned her head, an embarrassed flush warming her cheeks.

Varric gestured for the mage to precede him up the stairs, and paused before he followed. "Don't even think about it, Rosebud," he offered as a warning to Hawke. "You don't want anything to do with him."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Varric," she said, hiding her expression behind her dark hair.

Isabela considered teasing Hawke about her sudden shyness, but a commotion near Carver's table stopped her. "Time to save that brother of yours, Amber," she said, as she stood and retrieved a hidden knife from her boot.

Hawke turned and saw three very large men standing over her brother and uncle. Glancing toward the stairs, she saw Varric had already shut the door to his room. It was up to her and Isabela to take care of this.

At least it was something to do.

"I saw you pull that serpent from your sleeve!" the largest of the men, Dante, was shouting directly into Carver's face.

"Calm down, serah," Gamlen slurred, as he tried to rise from his seat, but failed. His foot caught on the chair's leg and sent him tumbling to the wooden floor, where he lay gazing up at them stupidly.

Carver did manage to stand, and towered over his accuser, swaying slightly. "Are you calling me a cheater?" he asked belligerently.

As soon as Hawke and Isabela reached the table, the sour stench of whisky almost made her wretch. Why her mother was always berating her for not being a proper young lady, while her precious son could do no wrong, Hawke did not understand. Her brother's drinking and womanizing had earned him a reputation in Kirkwall - one Leandra conveniently ignored.

Hawke positioned herself between Carver and Dante. "What's going on?" she asked, putting a hard edge in her voice that wasn't normally there.

"What's it to ya?" Dante asked. He turned to face her, and placed a meaty hand on her shoulder.

"Hands off my sister!" Carver shouted, and threw a wild punch that landed on the side of the man's head.

The slide of daggers being drawn from their sheaths was suddenly the only sound in the bar. Dante had grabbed Carver by his shirt and was backing him into the wall, while the other two circled behind Hawke and Isabela. Carver's face went pale from the knife suddenly held to his throat, but Hawke could not aid her brother. Another of the card players, a sharp-faced, sandy-haired man, began to lunge at her with a wickedly curved blade.

Hawke had been so focused on Carver, that she barely dodged the man's attack. His blade caught her in the arm, and a considerable gash now bled onto her new gloves. "I just got these!" she huffed in frustration while defending herself against his drunken swings. It would've been easy to take the man down with her skill, but Hawke didn't want to seriously injure him - he was highly intoxicated, and obviously not thinking clearly. So, she waited for the perfect opportunity, and when he leaned in to strike, she swiftly side-stepped to the left and then kneed him in the groin - a convenient trick she'd learned from Isabela.

The man fell to his knees with a low grunt, all thoughts of attack obliterated from his mind, as blinding pain shot through his body. Hawke kicked his weapon across the floor when he dropped it, his hands flying to cover his precious jewels.

Carver and Dante were still tangled in the corner, exchanging angry words. She marveled at her brother's ability to still be a twit, even when his life was at stake. Hawke quietly approached the two, and bringing her blade around to the larger man's throat, she whispered in his ear. "If you would be so kind as to remove your blade from my brother's neck, I would appreciate it."

"Why, you bitch!" Dante shouted, and Hawke feared things might have just gone from bad to worse.

"Halt!" came a shout from the doorway, and Hawke recognized the voice instantly, relief flooding through her. It was Aveline, come to the rescue once again.

How many times had the guardswoman saved Carver from his own drunken debauchery? More times than Hawke cared to count. It was how they had met, in fact. Not long after Aveline had come to Kirkwall with her Templar husband Wesley, she'd taken a position with the city guard. As much trouble as Carver got into, it was no surprise that eventually Hawke had come to know Aveline by name, and they'd quickly developed an odd sort of friendship.

Within minutes, Aveline and her two companions had corralled the men against the wall, and in that calm way she had, was explaining to them why they would leave quietly right this minute, or spend the night in jail.

"Amber!" called Isabela. "You're bleeding, sweet thing."

Hawke glanced down at the long gash on her forearm and winced. She hated to ask Bethany for healing, and wondered idly if the potion stand was still open this late at night. Hawke glanced back at Isabela, and saw a short, but deep cut across her jaw. "So are you," Hawke told her, and reached out to wipe the blood from her friend's face.

This was the scene Varric walked into, followed by the tall stranger, who eyed them all curiously.

"Brother trouble again?" Varric asked as he surveyed the damage. "This one's gonna cost you, Rosebud."

She glanced around and saw several broken chairs, and a whole tray of mugs shattered on the floor. Before she could reach for her coinpurse, however, Carver staggered over to her, his hand filled with gold.

"That lot won't be needing this," he said with a crooked grin. He pushed it into Hawke's hands, causing her to cringe from the pain in her arm. Distracted by her brother, Hawke wasn't aware that the mage was now by her side.

"Let me see your wound," said Varric's odd companion. He took her arm in his warm hands, and the soothing wash of a healing spell soon dispelled the sting. She gazed up into his eyes, her lips forming a soft 'thank you', but before she could speak, he turned and walked toward the door.

Isabela called after him. "Hey! I'm bleeding, too!" But the mage kept walking and did not turn back.

"Varric?" Hawke asked, and her unspoken question was clearly understood by her friend.

"Listen Rosebud," he said seriously. "Don't ask. Just forget you ever saw him."

Hawke nodded slowly, even though she doubted she could follow his advice. A handsome, mysterious apostate in Kirkwall? Not an easy thing to ignore.


	2. Chapter 2

"You are the best sister I ever had," Carver slurred loudly.

"Shhh! You'll wake the whole house," Hawke whispered.

"What would I do without..." He hiccupped loudly, and the stench of whiskey exploded in Hawke's face.

It was this way nearly every night. Her brother spent his evenings with Gamlen, losing at cards and drinking, unable to make his way home on his own. He'd wax on about how wonderful Hawke was, thanking her profusely for helping him out, while leaning heavily on her smaller form as they made their way back to the estate. On the mornings he actually managed to wake up, he'd forget his gratitude of the night before, and spend the entire breakfast complaining about Hawke's association with the_ lower classes._

"Ouch!" Hawke yelled when Carver elbowed her in the ribs. They were attempting to negotiate their way up the stairway, their ultimate goal his bedroom.

"Sorry, sister," he replied groggily. "It's just I have this itch..."

A sliver of yellow light appeared on the carpeted floor of the upstairs landing. Hawke glanced up to see Bethany standing in the doorway of her own bedroom, a judgmental frown on her face. Yet, her sister's words sent a wave of relief flooding through Hawke.

"Need some help?" she asked. Although her tone could be called unfriendly at best, Hawke hardly cared.

"Yes, please," she replied, gratefully.

Bethany strolled out into the hallway looking as if she was prepared to attend a ball. Her long, dark hair was piled on top of her head, and the golden threads of her dressing gown glimmered in the low light as she opened the door to Carver's room. Hawke grunted under his weight, but didn't bother to complain to her sister.

Bethany never helped Hawke with the physical part of getting Carver settled for the night, but she had a valuable skill, one which Hawke lacked.

Carver was whistling off-key, as Hawke pushed her brother onto the bed and began to pull of his boots.

"Why you keep rescuing him, I'll never understand," said Bethany. Nevertheless, a soft blue light began to gather around her delicate hands as she approached the bed. There at last was the skill Hawke had been waiting for... magic. Hawke had never resented her sister for inheriting her father's gift, when she herself had not, but Bethany seemed to take inordinate pleasure in lording it over her. Hence, the current production her sister now made, as she pushed back her sleeves and wiggled her fingers, as if to make sure Hawke was properly impressed.

"If you were a drunken slob, I'd do the same for you," Hawke replied, ignoring Bethany's antics as she always did. She swung Carver's legs up, and threw a blanket over him. It was her own sweet revenge, allowing him to sleep in his sweaty, smelly clothes.

"Me?" Bethany exclaimed, and finally released a sleep spell to envelope Carver's prostrate form. His whistling abruptly stopped. "I would never!"

"No, I don't suppose you would," Hawke replied good-naturedly. Her mood had instantly improved the second Carver began to snore.

Bethany crossed her arms over her ample chest and glared down at her brother. "He needs to grow up and take responsibility. He is a Hawke, after all."

In this instance, she did agree with her sister. "It's Gamlen's influence, more than anything," Hawke said. It was a litany she repeated often, without result. No one could seem to keep her wayward uncle and her brother apart for long.

"Well, he should think of his future," Bethany replied haughtily. "With Father's influence, Carver could be Viscount someday."

Hawke couldn't stop the laughter that welled up inside of her and spilled through her lips. She clamped a hand to her mouth, afraid she'd wake her parents with the noise.

"I'm serious," Bethany pouted. "He's ruining his life."

Hawke just shook her head, afraid if she spoke, she'd start laughing again. She took her sister's arm and led her from the room. She was weary beyond measure of the stench of spirits, and couldn't get out of there fast enough.

"Thanks," Hawke managed, and pressed a quick kiss to her sister's cheek, mostly because she knew Bethany hated it when she did. She was rewarded with Bethany's weak smile and a wave of her fingers as her sister retreated back down the hallway.

Within moments, Hawke was in her own room, and released a long sigh. Sometimes she could hardly believe Bethany and Carver were twins, so opposite were their personalities. The only way they were similar were their self-important attitudes. Being a _Hawke_ meant everything to them. Sometimes, she wished her parents had left Kirkwall when they married. Given up their wealth and privilege and raised their family on a farm, out in the country somewhere. She wondered how Bethany and Carver would have turned out, in her imaginary world.

Once she was ready for bed, and sat braiding her hair for the night, her idle thoughts turned to things other than family drama. Of their own accord, they drifted to a pair of coppery eyes, and the warmth of long fingers holding her wrist. Hawke shook her head and smiled. She was acting like a silly girl, instead of the young woman she now was. It wasn't as if she had any interest in romance at this point in her life. Her _special_ friendship with Isabela was lots of fun, and required absolutely no commitment. Hawke liked it that way, and wouldn't change a thing.

After her third yawn, she finally set her brush on the nightstand and crawled under the covers, nestling into her soft bed. Another long sigh, and Hawke closed her eyes, drifting off into the Fade.

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Morning was Hawke's favorite time of day. Leandra and Bethany often slept late, either due to some fancy party they had attended the previous evening, or because of the "beauty sleep" each claimed they required. Carver spent the morning, and much of the afternoon asleep, recovering from the copious amounts of liquor consumed the night before. With the rest of the estate in quiet slumber, Hawke spent every morning with her father.

"Good morning, Peacekeeper," Hawke greeted him, using his official title. "Off to save the city from corruption and greed again?"

"Every day," Malcolm said with a playful sigh. He poured Hawke a cup of the morning tea he had prepared, as she sat at the table beside him. "Today's battle, I believe, is telling Meredith that her request for monthly Harrowings was denied."

Hawke nearly choked on the sip of tea she'd just consumed, and said in astonishment, "She thought that would pass?"

Malcolm nodded. "You'd be surprised what that woman asks for. Maker knows how she got the position of knight-commander to begin with."

"I bet Orsino wasn't too thrilled," Hawke commented.

Malcolm shrugged. "I wouldn't know, I didn't bother to tell him. Part of being Peacekeeper is knowing what to relay to the two of them, and what to keep to myself. This city would have degraded into war years ago, had I informed either of them what the other was considering to put in the rulebook. I'm just lucky the Viscount leaves me to deal with them."

"Dumar is an idiot," Hawke stated. "The man doesn't have a brain in his head. I think it's the thorny crown he wears."

Malcolm chuckled. "You may be right, Amber." His jovial mood shifted, and his expression turned serious. "You're up early for having come home so late."

Hawke was never very good at hiding anything from her father. While she had made every effort to sneak into the estate quietly, Malcolm always knew when she had escorted Carver home after another one of his more difficult nights. "I don't have a big day planned, not much sleep required," she said, trying to deflect a discussion of her brother.

"You consistently play the role of parent when it comes to controlling his behavior, and I apologize for that," Malcolm said solemnly.

Hawke reached out to cover his hand with hers. "It's alright Father, I don't mind, really. I mean, it's a lot more acceptable for me to be seen in Lowtown than you or Mother."

Malcolm shook his head. "It is not alright. If Gamlen were not your mother's brother, I would have banished him from this city long ago for his unruly influence over my son. This is a burden you should not have to bear."

The sadness in her father's eyes brought tears to her own. "You have enough to worry about," Hawke reminded him. "Let me worry about Carver."

"When I come home this evening, I will have a serious discussion with that boy," Malcolm said. "I grow weary of his antics, and if he doesn't straighten up soon, I will force him to get a job. He should be doing something other than his current occupation of bench warmer at the Hanged Man."

"Careful, you're insulting Varric's favorite pastime," Hawke said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

"Indeed it is," Malcolm said, and his smile returned as he stood. "Tell him to pay me a visit this week, I may have an assignment for him. For now, there are kittens in trees, and mages in the Gallows, all needing to be saved."

Hawke escorted her father to the front door and kissed him on the cheek. "Be safe."

"You too, daughter," Malcolm said, touching the tip of her nose with his finger. "Try not to spill any blood today."

"I'll try," she said with a bright smile. The morning sunshine embraced them both as she opened the door, and she stepped out into the courtyard to watch her father head off to the Keep.

Another day had begun. Now the question was, what to do with it?

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"Oh Varric," Hawke called in a sing-song voice, as she entered the dwarf's suite at the Hanged Man. "Daddy wants to see you."

Varric was standing to the side of his table, maps sprawled out across its surface. "Whatever it was, I didn't do it," he said without looking up.

Hawke circled the table. "It's about a job," she informed him. She stopped to take a closer look at the parchments he was studying. "What are all these?"

"These, my little Rosebud, are maps into the Deep Roads," Varric said as he pushed one aside and pulled another toward him for a closer look. "I'm trying to find the best way in, with the least amount of travel involved."

"Well, that's easy," Hawke said as she stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. "I'd be happy to show you once we get there."

Varric shook his head. "Hawke, I'm telling you, no matter how many times you ask, the answer is no. The last thing I need is Malcolm Hawke busting down my door should the unthinkable happen."

"Where'd you get these anyway?" Hawke asked, pretending she hadn't heard him say 'no' yet again. She noticed the small seal on the corner of each page. "And if I'm not mistaken, that's a Grey Warden seal, is it not?"

He shrugged. "I know people."

His constant refusal to allow her to go on this expedition with him had been the topic of many arguments as of late. Varric had no problem dragging her into all sorts of trouble, but the one thing she really wanted to do, he had been outright refusing. And now he obviously planned to continue on with his secrets - first the mystery mage from last night, and now the source of these maps?

While Varric was engrossed in his research, Hawke cautiously and quietly took two steps away from him. "I believe we're having a communication problem, Varric," she said, taking a quick side-step to the right. "You're keeping an awful lot of secrets lately, and it's making me pout. You know I don't like to pout, it's not good for the skin."

"You'll get over it," he said, still distracted.

"Will I now?" Hawke adeptly retrieved Bianca from where she rested against the wall, and pointed her at Varric.

The dwarf turned to face her when he heard the familiar sound of his crossbow being prepped for firing. For the first time, in all the years she'd known him, Varric opened his mouth, but no words came out. His jaw worked, but there was not one sound.

Hawke grinned. At least now she had his attention.

Neither one turned when Fenris entered the suite. He assessed the current situation quickly: Hawke holding Bianca, aimed at Varric, and the dwarf's expression was the grimmest he'd ever seen. "Clearly I've come at a bad time," Fenris said, hesitating in the doorway.

Varric didn't take his eyes off his weapon, but Hawke turned and offered Fenris a wide smile. "Hello Fenris! Varric and I were just discussing the importance of friendship. Care to weigh in?"

Fenris was relieved when he felt the press of Isabela's breasts against his back. Though he despised how often the woman threw herself at him, her timely arrival prevented him from having to respond to Hawke's question.

"Oh Amber," Isabela said, eying Hawke as she held Bianca. "How many times must I tell you to stop playing with Varric's woman? Am I not enough for you?" she said with a wink.

"Varric can have his precious Bianca back after he answers my question," Hawke said. "The maps, dwarf. Where did you get them?"

"My meeting last night," Varric caved, knowing full well he wouldn't get his hands on Bianca until Hawke got her answer. "That mage you were drooling over. Now, give me Bianca before you scratch her."

"I would never," Hawke said softly, relinquishing the weapon. "But I hate how I have to go to such extremes to get you to talk to me lately."

Varric methodically checked over his crossbow for any sign of damage, though he knew there wouldn't be. "All for your own good, Rosebud. The less trouble you're in, the better I sleep at night."

"Well that was anticlimactic," Fenris said as he finally entered the room.

"Tell me about it," Isabela agreed as she followed. "You give in too easily, Amber. I would've held out for a name and location."

Hawke shrugged. "I thought you liked it when I gave in," she teased.

"Of course I do sweet thing," Isabela said, planting a kiss on Hawke's cheek. "Just stopped by to say hello. I'm off to the docks to see if I can't sleep my way toward a new ship. Care to join me? I bet both of us together could get me a ship in no time."

Hawke shook her head, and laughed. "That's your thing, not mine, as you know very well." She had a lot in common with Isabela, it was true. Yet in this way they were very different. "One person at a time, thanks very much."

"I'll convert you yet," Isabela said with a hearty laugh, and she exited the room.

"Anyone want to take a walk with me?" Hawke asked after Isabela was gone.

Varric began to roll up the parchments. "These maps are driving me nug-shit crazy. I could use a break."

Fenris shrugged. "I've got nothing better to do than to follow you Amber, you know this."

Hawke smiled. "My faithful elf. Come on, let's go shopping!"

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Hawke was perfectly comfortable in Lowtown, and didn't truly mind the docks, except for the stench of dead fish that always pervaded the place. Hightown was her home, of course, and she spent a lot of time at the Gallows, where her father kept his office. There was really only one place in Kirkwall that Hawke avoided. In fact, Malcolm had forbidden her from ever going there.

Darktown. Once no more than the city's sewers, it was now home to the worst elements of Kirkwall. Mostly run by the Coterie, the undercity was also crawling with refugees from the Blight, living in the worse kind of conditions. In fact, witnessing their suffering, and being able to do so little to help them, was why Hawke really avoided the place. If it weren't for the fact that she'd heard rumors of a top-notch poison maker who'd recently opened a shop there, she wouldn't be there now.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Rosebud?" Varric asked, adjusting Bianca on his back for the third time. He still hadn't recovered from the fact that Hawke had actually touched her - held his precious baby in her arms, even.

"Probably not," she replied. "But Isabela's name day is tomorrow, and you know how she loves poisons."

Varric chuckled, determined to regain his good humor. "That she does. I know she's been trying to get her hands on some deathroot toxin, but Martin can't find any."

"Martin talks big, but his inventory is shoddy," said Hawke. "Besides, that's why we brought Fenris along." She glanced back at the elf and smiled, reassured by the long sword on his back.

"And here I thought it was because my glowing tattoos would light the way," Fenris said dryly.

Hawke laughed. "Well, there is that."

The poison-maker turned out to be an elf named Tomwise, and Hawke was thrilled by his selection of poisons. By the time she left with her purchases, she'd even struck a deal with the merchant to gather some ingredients he needed for his crafting. The extra gold would certainly be useful to bribe Varric into allowing her come on his expedition. It was no secret that his brother Bartrand was having trouble raising the coin. In fact, maybe she should try going straight to Bartrand himself - bypass Varric all together.

Despite Varric's fear that her parents would be furious should he agree, Hawke was determined to go. More than anything, she wanted to explore more of the world then this little slice of the Free Marches.

Distracted by her thoughts, she almost missed seeing the glimpse of blond hair and feathered pauldrons that slipped around the corner just ahead of them. It took her a moment to realize that it had to be Varric's mage, but what was he doing in Darktown?

She turned the corner to follow him, and heard Varric say from behind her, "Um, Rosebud, the lift is over there."

Hawke didn't even bother to look where the dwarf pointed. Instead, she hurried down another short flight of steps, and in her haste, nearly ran into her prey.

"Wait!' she called and reached out a hand to steady herself. The mage quickly shrugged off her touch.

"I have nothing to say to you," he said dismissively, and resumed his walking.

"That's a little harsh," Hawke said, trying to keep up. "You don't even know me."

He turned back, and glared at her with obvious distaste. "You are the Peacekeeper's daughter," he said. "That's all I need to know."

As Hawke stood and watched his retreating back, she felt very confused, and more than a little hurt.

* * *

_ Cowritten by Fenzev and Wintryone_


	3. Chapter 3

_**The next morning...**_

It was a familiar pain, this dull pounding in his head. It felt as if someone had wrapped his skull in chains, and was pulling them tight in the same cadence as his heartbeat.

Carver let out a low moan.

What came next, he knew very well. It didn't matter how long he waited, or how carefully he moved, the minute he sat up, he would vomit into the chamber pot his sister invariably left on the floor next to his bed.

He groaned again. Not that it actually helped, the groaning, but it really was all he could manage at the moment.

There was only one cure, and it was served in a mug at the Hanged Man. The trick was getting himself there.

Even though his mother never commented on his drinking, the liquor cabinet at home stayed sealed up tight. Not only with the usual means of lock and key, but Bethany also put some sort of ward on the blasted thing.

Stupid mages.

Why they begrudged him a little fun, Caver couldn't understand. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do with his time. His mother's insistence that he apply to become a Magistrate like Messere Vanard, and Bethany's not so subtle hints that he should befriend Saemus Dumar, were both ridiculous propositions. Carver would have laughed at either thought, but he knew that would only increase the hammering in his head. He was pretty sure his sister had her own motives for wanting her twin brother to be close to the Viscount's son.

His gaze fell on the longsword, sitting neglected on its stand in the corner. Unlike his sister, he had not taken well to the training his father had provided. He didn't have the patience, or apparently the aptitude, for swordplay. It was embarrassing to always fumble about with the blade, and practice had been just another boring chore. It also didn't help to watch his sister learn to wield her long daggers with such apparent ease. If only he'd shown the same promise...

Bah! To the void with regrets and failures. There were much better distractions awaiting him, as soon as he could get his arse out of the blighted bed.

Lady De Launcet's young cousin was visiting from Orlais, and Carver hadn't missed the subtle signs of interest she'd shown him at the gathering last week. He thought he had a very good chance of getting under that tight corset of hers to enjoy the silky flesh beneath. A nice stroll in the Viscount's gardens would be just the thing. There was that secluded spot, deep in the hedge maze, where he'd had such fun with Ser Selbrech's daughter... What was her name? Petunia? Lilly? Some sort of flower, he was almost sure.

Yes, he'd take the little cousin from Orlais there, today.

Gamlen wouldn't be stirring until the sun went down, so that gave Carver plenty of time to satisfy his _other_ needs. He sat up and leaned his head over the side of the bed, hoping he didn't miss the pot this time.

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"Fenris, are you here?" Hawke called as she entered the mansion, stepping over the rug that was still in a heap near the front door.

Dressed in his casual style of black leggings and white shirt, Fenris descended the stairs to greet her. "Where else would I be, if not with you?" he asked.

"Oh I don't know," Hawke said. "Ripping out the hearts of small animals and children maybe?"

Fenris sighed, an expression of utter seriousness across his handsome face. "That was yesterday. Fresh out I'm afraid."

Hawke giggled and waved a piece of paper at him. "I brought you a present, but you can only have it if you abstain from the slaughtering of innocents. At least for the rest of the week."

"I'll consider it," Fenris said as he followed her into the study. "Is it not Isabela's name day? Shouldn't you be giving her the poison you purchased? Preferably through the heart, on the end of your blade?"

"Ooh, you really don't like her do you?" Hawke asked as she patted the couch, gesturing for him to sit. "You are correct, and her present will come later, in a box. For now, you." She could barely stand her excitement. Nothing delighted her more than making Fenris happy. Considering his past, she had been both surprised and pleased that after the unpleasant way they'd met, he'd turned out to be not only very clever, but just as loyal.

Hawke settled onto the couch beside him. "Now I know you can't read this, so allow me to do it for you." She cleared her throat, and then began speaking in the same mocking voice she used whenever mimicking the Viscount. "I, Marlowe Dumar, Viscount of Kirkwall, do hereby decree that ownership of the manor in Hightown's Western District, formerly owned by one Tevinter Magister Danarius, has been transferred to one Fenris Revas."

Fenris raised a brow at hearing his new last name. "Revas?"

"You needed a last name," Hawke stated, as if it were obvious. "And Revas means freedom in elven."

"Danarius didn't have one," Fenris pointed out.

Hawke sighed. "Danarius is dead, so his last name doesn't matter, but I'm sure he had one when he was alive. Ruining the gift, Fenris!" she said, handing him the parchment. "The mansion is yours, free and clear."

Fenris studied the paper he could not read, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Let's go have a pint to celebrate," Hawke suggested, grabbing the elf by the hand and pulling him to his feet.

"Amber," he said quietly, and his voice was so unlike his usual sarcastic tone, that Hawke immediately met his gaze.

"What is is, Fenris?" she asked.

"I have never properly thanked you," he told her.

Hawke smiled. "No need, Fenris. Killing your former master was a pleasure, I assure you."

The hand holding hers squeezed tightly. "Because of you, I am free," he said, and returned her smile. "I will never forget that, Amber."

"See that you don't," she said, and gave him a saucy wink. "I've become very fond of that longsword of yours."

Fenris chuckled low in his throat, his somber mood suddenly gone. "Of course, my sword," he said. "The way you find trouble, I have no doubt it will remain quite useful."

"Some call it trouble," she quipped, as she led him through the mansion. "I call it fun."

Even though in some ways she had been teasing him, Hawke relished the warm glow that filled her heart as they walked out into the late afternoon sun.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

"I can't for the life of me understand why that mage was so rude," Hawke told Varric immediately upon entering his suite. After a celebratory pint, she'd left Fenris downstairs playing Serpents with Isabela, much to the elf's chagrin.

"Well," hedged Varric. "He was bound to find out about you eventually."

"About me?" Hawke asked suspiciously. "Wait! You told him who I was!"

"He asked, I answered," replied Varric, attempting to sound casual. "End of story."

Hawke narrowed her gaze on the dwarf, causing him to shift uncomfortably. "I want to hear every word of the conversation," Hawke said, her voice low and insistent.

"Now Rosebud, for once I only told the truth," Varric said in an attempt to placate her.

It didn't work. Hawke rounded the table and stood peering down at him expectantly. "Every single word, Varric," she repeated.

Varric sighed heavily and looked down at his hands resting on the table. "You sure you wouldn't rather have a pint and play a game of Wicked Grace?"

Hawke only glared at him.

"Fair enough," he said, resigned to his fate "It went something like this..."

_"There you are Blondie. I was afraid you'd backed out on me," I said, after Anders finally returned with the maps. _

"Wait," Hawke interrupted. "His name is Anders? Or Blondie?"

"Storytelling here," warned Varric.

Hawke frowned, but motioned for him to go on.

_"Sorry, Templars were everywhere, hunting down some apostate by the alienage," he said, as he set the maps on the table._

_"Six maps?" I whistled between my teeth. "Quite the jackpot."_

_Anders seemed to have already lost interest in the maps, because the next thing he said was, "Who was she?"_

_"Who was who?" I wasn't really paying him much attention, and had already started unrolling the first parchment. _

_"The pretty girl. The one I healed," he said. _

_"Oh, that who. Out of your league, Blondie," I told him. _

_"Maybe you should let me be the judge of that," he said, and crossed his arms over his chest. _

_Truthfully, I wanted to get rid of him so I could study the maps in peace. So, I said, "Her name is Amber Hawke, and her father Malcolm is the most powerful mage in Kirkwall."_

_"A mage!" he exclaimed. _

_"Amber's no mage, just her daddy," I told him. _

_"How could her father be First Enchanter?" he asked. "No one in the Circle is allowed a family."_

_"Not First Enchanter," I clarified. "Peacekeeper."_

_"Peacekeeper?" he nearly shouted. _

_"You know, Peacekeeper. The mage who keeps the crazy people in charge of the city from running amok," I explained. _

_"I know what a Peacekeeper does," said Anders with a frown. "They help the Templars keep mages as slaves."_

_"Now wait a minute," I protested, ready to defend Malcolm, but he didn't give me a chance. _

_"Never mind, forget I asked," he said. "You have your maps, now where's my gold?"_

Varric shrugged his shoulders. "I paid him, and he left. End of story."

"He knows nothing about Father," said Hawke. That anyone would think ill of Malcolm rankled her deeply. "Maybe you're right," she admitted. "Maybe I should just forget about him."

"Now you're talking, Rosebud," said Varric. "That road leads to nowhere but trouble."

Hawke walked around the table and lifted the heavy gold chain from Varric's chest. "You know, Varric," she said and smiled coyly. "You could distract me from my thoughts of handsome mages by letting me go on the expedition."

"You're never going to let this go, are you?"

"No," she replied, and dropped the chain heavily back onto his chest. "Not a chance."

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

When Malcolm Hawke entered the Keep, he was met with several nods and smiles of welcome. Dressed in his signature black robes with the symbol of Kirkwall embroidered in silver thread on its back, he was a familiar sight in the building. A normal routine for him, he'd visit the Viscount before heading to his office in the Gallows.

"Malcolm," Viscount Dumar greeted him as the dark-haired mage walked into his office.

"Good morning Marlowe," Malcolm said as he rested his staff along the wall before sitting across from the viscount. "How did the dinner party go?"

Dumar shook his head. "I detest these things, as you well know. It was a nightmare of bureaucracy and conspiracy. Your absence was duly noted."

"My apologies," Malcolm offered. "But I detest them as much as you."

Dumar managed a weak grin. "What have our lives come to?" Dumar asked.

"Dreadful parties with intolerable food, I'm afraid," Malcolm responded. Wishing to get business out of the way, he brought up his itinerary for the day. "I'll be speaking with Meredith this morning. I thought I'd offer you the courtesy of a warning."

The viscount's expression turned grim. "Your assistance with this matter is appreciated," Dumar told him. "She has grown... intolerable as well. Monthly Harrowings? Has she gone mad?"

"Officially," Malcolm stated, keeping his personal feelings to himself, "I shall say she is being diligent in her duties, and searching for ways to keep the city safe."

"This coming from a mage?" Dumar said with a raised brow. "Maddening!"

They continued on with their usual morning banter, indulging in the croissants that were delivered shortly after Malcolm arrived. It was their casual morning conversations that gave Malcolm all the insight he needed into Dumar's current mindset, as far as the city's politics were concerned. They had been friends for decades, but once both were placed in office, the dynamic of that relationship changed. Dumar continued to vent to his old friend, and Malcolm would pay attention for any sign of something in which he'd need to intervene. How the man received the position of Viscount to begin with, Malcolm wasn't sure. Dumar was always nervous with any decision he was expected to make, and often it was Malcolm that would steer him in the right direction.

After the pleasantries of the morning were exhausted, Malcolm excused himself and made his way toward the Gallows. Much like entering the Keep, Malcolm received greetings from both Templars and mages when he entered the courtyard. A brief nod to Cullen had the Knight-Captain walking in step with Malcolm as they entered the Gallows Halls.

"I trust everything is quiet?" Malcolm asked Cullen, before ascending the stairs to his office.

Cullen glanced upward as if to confirm Meredith was not within earshot. "She is prepared for your rejection of her proposal," the knight-captain informed him.

"Confirmation she has a connection to someone on the council," Malcolm said. "Well, we knew that was a possibility." He leaned against the stairwell for a moment in contemplation. For several months Meredith had become privy to information discussed behind closed doors at the bi-weekly council meetings, and Cullen's information only proved Malcolm's theory. He would pay closer attention on his next visit to Val Royeaux.

"Orders, Sir?" Cullen asked.

"None for now," Malcolm said, placing a hand on the knight-captain's shoulder. "Should you happen to be in Hightown later..."

Cullen nodded, understanding Malcom's request for him to stop by the Hawke estate after dark. "Good day Peacekeeper," Cullen said with a bow, before retreating back to the courtyard.

Malcolm sighed before willing his feet to carry him up the stairs toward Meredith's office.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

Hawke retrieved Isabela's present from where she'd hidden it in Varric's office, and dragged the dwarf downstairs with her. Her pirate friend's raucous laughter rang through the bar as she scooped up the gold she'd just won from Fenris.

"One of these days, I will discover where you are hiding the cards," the elf was saying as they approached.

"Ooo! I hope so big boy," Isabela replied with a wink. "I look forward to it."

Fenris attempted a scowl, but Hawke could see the speculative gleam in his eye, and she wondered if at least some of his complaints about Isabela's forwardness were to mask his own interest. She couldn't blame him, really. Isabela was a lot of fun, as Hawke knew well herself.

"Amber!" said Isabela cheerfully. "Where've you been, love?"

"Giving me a hard time, as usual," said Varric grumpily, as he took his seat at the table.

Ignoring Varric, Hawke brought the nicely wrapped box of poisons from behind her back and said, "Happy Name Day!"

"A present?" Isabela cooed as she accepted the gift. "Aww, sweet thing, you shouldn't have."

"Of course I should have," Hawke said with a smile. "Go on, open it."

Isabela produced a dagger from beneath her skirt, and sliced through the pretty blue ribbon that held the box closed. As soon as she lifted the top and saw the glimmering vials of poison inside, Isabela squealed with delight.

"Is this...is it deathroot?" she asked, her dark eyes shining with happiness.

"Indeed it is," Hawke confirmed, her own smile widening from Isabela's reaction.

"Amber braved the deadly dangers of Darktown to get that for you," Varric said as an aside.

"Did she?" Isabela purred, and set the box carefully down on the table. "Somebody needs a thank you." She shimmied closer to Hawke and added, "A very _special_ thank you."

Since the first time they'd met, Isabela's sexual enthusiasm had wormed its way under Hawke's skin and set all her nerve endings alight. So, when the pirate snaked an arm around Hawke's waist and pulled her close, she felt the heat begin to pool low in her belly. Isabela's lips were warm, and oh so very lush as they met Hawke's. Their bodies were pressed close, breast to breast, and Hawke had just given herself over to the kiss when there was a loud throat-clearing sound from behind her.

Tearing herself away from Isabela's plump lips, Hawke nearly lost her balance when the now familiar feathered pauldrons were mere inches from where she stood. Refusing to meet her startled gaze, Anders nodded to Varric. "Might I have a word?"

Varric did his best to defuse the situation by quickly escorting Anders up to his room. Hawke slumped into the nearest chair, an embarrassed flush on her cheeks.

"So, the mystery man returns," Isabela said as she joined Hawke.

"His name is Anders and he hates me," Hawke informed the pirate. "Varric felt it necessary to tell him about my father."

Isabela patted her on the knee. "Don't worry sweet thing, no man can hate any woman after what he just saw. He'll be begging to bed you in no time."

"Isabela!" she gasped, but the light-heartedness of her lover lifted her spirits. "If ever there was a kiss to walk in on, that was it." Hawke took ahold of Isabel's hand, and twined their fingers together. " I'm glad you liked your present."

"We'll need to head out soon so I can test them out," Isabela said, reopening the box with her free hand and fondling the vials. "Anything new and exciting going on?"

Hawke was about to inform her that at present, no there was a lull in the usual adventures Kirkwall had to offer, when Varric called for her from upstairs. "Amber, we're going to need you up here."

Isabela raised a brow as Hawke stood. "I'm guessing he doesn't hate you," she said before swatting Hawke on her rear. "Chest out Amber, use your assets. "

Hawke chuckled softly as she ran a hand through her hair, hoping it didn't look as dreadful as it felt. Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked up the stairs, hopeful copper eyes meeting her gaze when she reached the landing.


	4. Chapter 4

Hawke had expected Anders to be cold, if not downright antagonistic toward her. Yet the gaze that met hers was not what quite what she had thought it would be. It was a penetrating stare, as if he were attempting to take her measure by his will, alone. If he assumed, however, that his scrutiny would make her uncomfortable, he'd best think again. She was a Hawke, and had put some of the most powerful men in Kirkwall in their place with just a few words.

Varric broke the tense silence, and she tore her gaze away from the mage to look at the dwarf.

"Soooo," he drawled out. "Apparently Blondie here has a little problem." Varric scratched his chin, as he always did when he was nervous. "One that you might be able to help him with, Rosebud."

Hawke shot Anders another glance, but he was looking at the floor now. His blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wondered what it would look like loose, falling across his eyes and framing his face.

Instead of turning back to Varric, she kept her eyes on the mage as she asked, "What sort of problem?" She'd bet her last silver that any problem this man had was unlikely to be small.

Varric said, "Well, it's like this..."

But Hawke interrupted him. "I think _Blondie_ should tell me himself."

Varric cleared his throat. "Mhmm, well... yeah, sure. I'll go order a few pints." With that he hurried down the stairs to the bar below.

Anders lifted his eyes to hers, and though there was still unwarranted judgement in them, she saw a trace of fear there, as well. "It's a friend of mine," he said. "I'm afraid he's in trouble."

"No need to be vague," Hawke said, trying to keep her tone reasonable. "I won't bite you."

Anders frowned at that, and Hawke bit her lip to keep from smiling. She thought she might actually like to bite him, despite his surly ways.

He said, in rather clipped tones, "Karl is a mage, a friend of mine from my days at Kinloch Hold. He's in the Gallows now, and we've been corresponding since I arrived in Kirkwall." Anders pressed his fingers to his temple and closed his eyes briefly before he continued. "His letters stopped coming, and I fear the worst."

Being a Peacekeeper's daughter, Hawke knew the names and locations of most of the Circles in Thedas. Kinloch Hold was the Circle Tower in Ferelden, which she knew had gone through a very bad time during the Blight. As much as she wanted to ask him about it, she could see he was truly afraid for his friend, and instead asked. "The worst?"

Anger lit his gaze again, and though Hawke was sure it was a trick of the light, for a moment she'd thought she'd seen a glint of blue in the depths of his brown eyes.

"You, of all people, must know what goes on in the Gallows," he said vehemently. "Look at a Templar cross-eyed, and the next day you wake up Tranquil."

For the first time, Hawke did squirm uneasily. Even though Meredith's plan for monthly Harrowings had been rejected out of hand, she knew that the knight-commander managed to get far more mages approved for the Rite of Tranquility than her father liked. As Peacekeeper, his influence was great, but he did not control every aspect of life in the Circle. It was entirely possible that Anders was right about his friend. Correspondence with an apostate would mean big trouble for any Circle mage.

Hawke swallowed back her resentment of Anders' previously unkind treatment, and with real compassion said, "You're right. Your friend could be in trouble... of the worst kind."

The expression of surprise that crossed his handsome face was nearly comical. One minute he'd been glaring at her with hostility, the next, he looked at her as if she'd just grown two heads. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Hawke continued. "Apparently you were under the mistaken impression that my father approves of the Templars unsavory tactics for controlling the mages." She took a step toward him, needing him to understand just how much she meant what she was saying. "You couldn't be more wrong. My father is a mage, my sister Bethany was born with magic too. Being made Tranquil is any mage's worst nightmare. Father has repeatedly tried to get the rite banned. And though he's not been successful, neither has he given up the fight."

"I... I don't know what to say," Anders said in nearly a whisper.

Hawke felt some of the weight lift from her chest. That she'd been able to knock him off his high horse felt very satisfying. "You could say you're sorry, and we could start again."

He still looked at her warily, but Hawke could see he was fighting a grin. "I'm sorry?" he said, but it was more of a question.

Hawke sighed. "I suppose that will do for now." She could tell that he was going to be a tough nut to crack, and then was surprised when she suddenly realized that she intended to try to crack him. "I'll tell you now, though, that I won't jeopardize my father's position. If you want my help, we talk to him first."

Another frown, this one tinged with a hint of fear. "Talk to the Peacekeeper?" It was obviously something he hadn't considered.

"What? You thought I'd use my knowledge of the Gallows to help you break your friend out of there?" she asked, and by the look of chagrin that replaced his frown, she knew she'd hit the mark. Hawke laughed. "Although I've been known to cross the line of the law a time or two, why risk that when there's a much better plan available?"

"Yes, a risk," he said. "Have you considered the risk I'd take introducing myself to the Peacekeeper?" He went on in a mocking tone. "Nice to meet you, Ser Peacekeeper. I'm an apostate mage, and I thought you might like to lock me up now." He stood and held out his hands in front of him, as if he were prepared to be chained.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hawke said, and grinned. "My father is a fair man, he'd give you a chance to run away before he called the Templars."

"That's not funny," he said. "You've never been locked up. Believe me, it's no laughing matter."

"Oh, I don't know," Hawke replied. "If we can't laugh at the bad stuff, we lose the one thing that can make it better." She took the last few steps between them, and peered up at him. "We all have our cages, mage, just not all of them have bars and locks made of metal."

"Anders," he said, looking back down at her. "My name is Anders."

"You can call me Amber," she replied. "Come on, my father is at home. We can go there now."

"You're sure about this?" he asked, but he followed her as she turned to leave.

"Positive," she said.

On her way through the bar, she called for Varric, who immediately approached them, a cautious expression on his face. "We're going to the estate," she told him.

"Want me to come with you, Rosebud?" asked the dwarf.

"No need," Hawke replied. "But thanks."

Once they'd left the Hanged Man and were walking toward the long stairway that would take them to Hightown, Anders asked. "Why does Varric call you Rosebud, if your name is Amber?"

Hawke laughed. "Every woman has her little secrets," she replied.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

"Why Cullen, what a delight to see you again," Leandra said as she widened the door to the estate. "Please, do come in."

"Thank you Mistress Hawke," Cullen said as he entered. Carefully, he removed his shield and sword and placed them on the weapons rack near the front door. Cullen then took Leandra's hand in his and gave it a soft kiss. "An armed man should never kiss a lady," he said before releasing her.

Leandra blushed. "So polite, as always," she said with a gracious sigh. "My husband is waiting for you in his study."

With a nod, Leandra led Cullen through the foyer to the living room. Bethany stood at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide with delight. Her hair was immaculate as always, soft curls draping her shoulder over a dark red dress that highlighted her curves most attractively. "Ser Cullen," she said in her warmest, sweetest voice.

"Lady Bethany," Cullen called. "You look stunning, as ever."

Bethany gave him a shy smile as she descended the stairs to greet him. Before reaching the bottom step, however, she tripped over the hem of the long dress, missed the step completely and fell into the knight-captain's outstretched arms. Her cheeks turned nearly the same deep crimson as her dress, while Cullen held her arms to keep her upright.

"Are you alright M'lady?" Cullen asked, gently.

With another shy, nervous smile, Bethany glanced up into his eyes. "Good thing you were here to catch me," she whispered.

Cullen slid his fingers along her arm until he held her hand, which he brought to his lips for a kiss, as he had done with Leandra. Only this time, perhaps he lingered a moment longer. "The pleasure of saving you is all mine," he said with a wink, before releasing her hand.

Bethany and Leandra watched as Cullen continued down the hall toward the study. "Really Bethany," her mother scolded her youngest daughter as soon as he was out of earshot. "Do try to avoid making a spectacle of yourself. Now, run along to the kitchen and prepare tea for your father and his guest."

"I still don't understand why you won't hire servants," Bethany said, her usual complaint about having to perform such a task. "No other noble, or their daughter, would be caught answering the door or preparing tea."

"One does not need to retain servants to properly run their home, or attend to company," Leandra reminded her. "Do as you're told, and don't keep them waiting," she added as she followed Cullen down the hall.

Malcolm stood from behind his desk as the door to his study opened. "Ah Cullen, glad you could make it," he said, shaking the Templar's extended hand.

"As requested," Cullen stated with a warm smile. "I see the day has treated you well."

"If you mean I still have my head intact, then yes I suppose it has," Malcolm said with a chuckle. "That'll be all, thank you Leandra."

"I will leave you two to your business," Leandra said. "Bethany will bring in your tea shortly, do you require anything to eat dear husband? Ser Cullen?"

Cullen politely declined her offer of food, but said, "Tea would be delightful, though, thank you."

Leandra shut the door behind her, leaving the two men alone. Malcolm gestured for Cullen to have a seat near the fireplace, and retrieved a large, black, leather-bound book from his desk. Sitting beside Cullen, he handed him it to him. "The notes from our last few council meetings," he said. "I've made notations as to which meetings Meredith seemed to know about, before I'd even made my report."

Cullen studied the list of names and topics over the last five meetings. "It seems the only person that has been consistently present at all five is this Templar, Samson."

"Yes," Malcolm said. "What do we know about him?"

Cullen thought for a moment. "Ser Emeric may remember more than I do, but I believe Samson was initially sent to Val Royeaux as some sort of punishment, for corresponding with a mage within the Gallows. To be honest, I'm surprised to see that he was elected to the council at all, with such a disciplinary record."

"Unless White Spire was not made aware of the reason for his transfer," Malcolm said. "Do we know who this mage was?"

Cullen shook his head. "I wasn't privy to the specifics, I apologize."

A knock came upon the study door, and Bethany poked her head in a few seconds later. "I have your tea, gentleman," she said pleasantly as she entered, balancing a pot and two cups upon a serving tray.

"Thank you, my darling daughter," Malcolm said as Bethany entered, and set the tray upon the small wooden table between them. He continued on with their conversation, while Bethany poured the tea. "A Templar having relations with a mage is strictly forbidden," he said to Cullen. "I wonder if there are some even now breaking that rule."

The sudden clank of the teapot hitting the rim of a cup startled both men, as Bethany nearly spilt the tea. "Forgive me," she apologized. "Still shaken from my earlier fall, it seems."

Malcolm smiled at his daughter indulgently as she resumed pouring the tea.

"Still prefer it sweetened, Ser Cullen?" she asked.

Cullen tried to divert his eyes from the lush bosom that Bethany displayed as she bent over to fill his cup. "Yes M'lady," he replied. "The sweeter the better."

A coy smile graced her lips as she poured the tea every so slowly into his cup. "Then you will enjoy this, I assure you." She then poured another for Malcolm. "And for you Father, unsweetened with a hint of gin. I promise not to tell Mother."

Malcolm smiled at his daughter. "Thank you, dearest. Now if you'll excuse us..."

With one last glance at the Templar, Bethany exited the room. Once she was gone, Malcolm said to Cullen, "It would be providential if you'd keep your eye on Ser Samson," he said. "Discreetly, of course."

"I will," Cullen agreed. "Rest assured, I'll let you know the minute I notice anything out of the ordinary."

"Of that I have no doubt," Malcolm replied approvingly. "Just be sure that you do not jeopardize yourself. As much as I appreciate our arrangement, I would not bring Meredith's wrath down upon your head."

Cullen laughed. "I don't wish for anything of Meredith's to be brought down upon me. I promise you, Malcolm, I will be careful."

"Good," Malcolm replied. "Now, let's go over these notes one last time before I send you on your way."

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Anders had followed Hawke to Hightown, noticing how naturally she kept to the shadows and out of sight. He'd seen others with this same skill, during his time in Ferelden, and added to the sharp daggers she wore on her back, he knew that Amber Hawke was more than just a pampered nobleman's daughter.

"You're awfully quiet," Hawke said to him as they rounded the corner of the market.

"What did you want me to say?" he asked. "For all I know, you're taking me straight into the lion's den."

"Trust issues, I see," Hawke replied cheerily.

For the life of him, Anders couldn't quite get a handle on her. She seemed such a mixed bag of contradictions.

They were approaching the entrance to a large estate, which sat at the base of the long stairway leading up to the Viscount's Keep. Hawke pointed to an ivy-covered entryway. "There it is, home sweet home."

Just as the words left her lips, a light shone onto the ground outside the door.

Hawke moved more quickly than Anders would have thought possible. Within seconds, she'd pulled him into a dark recess only yards from the door. She then pushed him against the wall, and covered his mouth with her small hand. The feeling of her soft palm against his lips caused unexpected sensations to flutter through his chest. He'd thought her pretty, yes, but this close, their bodies tightly pressed against each other, the intensity of his reaction was somewhat of a surprise, especially considering why they'd come to her estate in the first place.

Karl.

It wasn't long before he heard a set of purposeful footsteps pass by their hiding place and recede into the night. Hawke, instead of removing her hand from his mouth, slid her fingers along his jaw, which only served to increase the stirring inside him. This was not part of the plan, not by a longshot.

"Well, isn't this nice?" Hawke said, and wriggled just the smallest bit.

He had to put a stop to this before it went any further, and he took her by the shoulders and set her away from him. "Let's go," he said in a neutral tone, hoping she wouldn't notice the slightly lower timbre of his voice.

"You're no fun," Hawke pouted, but grabbed his hand and led him into the estate.

It wasn't long before he was he was being introduced to the Peacekeeper of Kirkwall, Malcolm Hawke.

Malcolm was a tall man, with a dark shock of hair flecked lightly here and there with a few strands of grey. His black robes fit him immaculately, showing off a physique that a man half his age would have envied. But what struck Anders the most were his eyes. They were the same warm caramel as his daughter's, and held that same spark of mischief, too.

"Father, I'd like you to meet..." Hawke began, but Malcolm interrupted her.

"You do not rise to my position without knowing the goings on within the city," he said to Hawke. "Did you think the arrival of a Grey Warden apostate would escape me?" Malcolm approached the mage and eyed him speculatively. "Anders, is it?"

"And you said he wouldn't turn me in," Anders said to Hawke, and began to back up, ready to bolt.

Malcolm stood before him and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "I would not," he assured the mage. "I have great respect for your Order, and as you are in the company of my daughter, let's just say I trust her judge of character." He lifted his hand and settled into the chair nearest the fireplace, gesturing for Anders to do the same.

Hawke had already made herself comfortable on top of her father's desk, dangling her legs over the side casually, as she'd always done since she was a little girl. Hearing the news that Anders was a Grey Warden was surprising, but she refrained from commenting on it for now. She knew her father would want to set the pace of this unexpected meeting.

"So tell me," Malcolm said, waiting patiently for Anders to begin. "What brings you here?"

Anders glanced nervously at Hawke before speaking. That Malcolm would place such unerring trust in his daughter said a lot about their relationship. He sat in the unoccupied chair, fidgeting with his robes. "I have a friend in the Gallows, his name is Karl Thekla. We've been friends a long time, and..." Anders swallowed hard, consumed by worry for his friend.

"A mage then," Malcolm deduced, considering Anders was an apostate. "Go on... and?"

"He was caught, writing letters to me, and I've heard rumors that... It's the rite. They're going to make him Tranquil," Anders said. After his initial misgivings, he was surprised that he was suddenly unburdening himself to someone he'd just met, never mind that the man was Peacekeeper.

"The rite would not be invoked merely for correspondence," Malcolm stated firmly. "Unless of course the content of these letters held something which would be of concern? The Templars are mainly watching for any signs of blood magic, which I'm assuming you're not involved in, given you are with my daughter." He glanced at Hawke, who nodded reassuringly.

A look of disgust crossed Anders features. "Neither Karl nor I have ever resorted to blood magic," he said, and the thought then arose in his mind about his own little secret. He wondered briefly what Malcolm's thoughts would be on spirit possession. Surely a mage of his caliber would have come across such a thing before. He pushed those thoughts away and continued. "And no, the letters were simply a way to keep in touch, to... remain close. Little things about our days, and such."

Malcolm sat back in his chair. "I see no reason then, why you would think he's going to be made Tranquil. Where did you hear such rumors?"

"You're kidding, right?" Anders asked in disbelief. "You know Meredith, and how she finds the smallest excuse to enact the rite. As to my sources, I... well, I'd rather not say."

"Given my position Anders, I am unable to comment on Meredith," Malcolm explained, but there again was that mischevious light twinkling in his eye. "And I respect your need to not reveal your sources. However in this case, I do believe they may be mistaken, as I have received no approval notices of the rite to be performed on any mage within the coming weeks."

Anders rose from his chair. "I assure you, ser, my sources are very accurate," he insisted. "Perhaps you play at doubt because you are part of the Gallows' dirty little secrets!"

Hawke stood, as well. "Anders!" she exclaimed.

Malcolm waved his hand at his daughter. "It's alright, Amber. Please, Anders, sit down. It is clear you are concerned for your friend, and I will overlook that accusation based on the fact that your emotions have overcome your reason. This must be a difficult topic for you."

Anders stood for a moment longer, his chest rising and falling with his breath. When he finally sat down, he looked tired, defeated almost. "Difficult is an understatement," he said. "I've witnessed far too many good people become nothing more than walking corpses."

"As have I," Malcolm agreed. "If your friend Karl is not a blood mage, then I see no reason for the rite to be performed. You, however, seem certain it will take place - knowledge, I assure you, I do not possess. My question to you, then is this... What would you have me do about it? Although I am Peacekeeper in this city, that does not give me the authority to override such an order, if it has approval from Val Royeaux."

"Has it been approved?" Anders ask, some of the animation returning to his voice. "If you could at least find that out for me. Because my sources also say that Meredith is bypassing the chain of command far too frequently. If Karl is not on the list, perhaps... maybe you can buy him some time..."

"Meredith may attempt to take these matters into her own hands, but I stand in her way more often than she likes to admit," Malcolm said, a smug grin on his face. "Of course, if I were to become involved in preventing a justified rite, that would reflect poorly on me and my position. I believe, if you would think about it, the one who has the power to buy your friend some time here is you."

"I...me?" Anders asked. "You'd have me go into the Gallows and attempt to break him out?" He heard Hawke give a little snort, and remembered their exchange at the Hanged Man.

Malcolm shook his head. "My dear boy, let us not consider worst case scenarios first. You are a Grey Warden, are you not? Do you not hold a rite of your own you might invoke?"

The look of confusion on Anders' face rapidly transformed into one of astonishment. "Conscription!" he nearly shouted but just as quickly his frown returned. "But there is no Blight. How would I justify recruiting him into the Wardens?"

"Many Wardens lost their lives during the Blight, in Ostagar as well as Denerim, if I recall the stories correctly. Would the Order not need to replenish its numbers? Enacting the Right of Conscription would not only create a safe haven for your friend, but give Meredith and her Templars reason to conveniently ignore you, should you remain in Kirkwall."

Anders gazed at Malcolm thoughtfully. He'd always assumed everyone in power was wicked and corrupt, but instead he'd found someone in a position of power who was willing to... help. "My standing in the Wardens is not what it should be," he admitted ruefully. "But, perhaps I can kill two birds with one stone, by providing them with my replacement." He grinned with real humor for the first time since entering the estate.

"Do forgive an old man's hearing," Malcolm said as he rose from his chair. "But I believe I missed that last bit. The Wardens seek a mage for recruitment, you say? Fine, I shall check the Gallows for someone appropriate and get back to you."

Anders felt the laughter well up in his chest. "That simple? I've been consumed with fear for days, and suddenly, there's hope." He extended his hand to Malcolm. "Thank you... Peacekeeper."

Malcolm grasped Anders' hand in both of his. "I suppose you should be thanking my daughter, for this conversation would have gone quite differently had you come to me on your own." He released Anders' hand. "I'm sure Amber can see you out. If you'll forgive me, the hour is late, and I must retire for the evening."

Anders nodded his acquiescence. "Amber will know where to reach me, when you have word."

"Will I?" Hawke asked, a sly grin curving her lips.

"Goodnight, Anders," Malcolm said, and then kissed Hawke on the cheek. "Don't stay up too late, my dear," he warned her, assuming that the two may wish to continue their conversation privately. He closed the door to the study upon his exit.

Anders wasn't entirely comfortable with the way Hawke was looking at him. Or the way she was walking toward him, very purposefully. He attempted to put a look of disinterest on his face, but was afraid that she was remembering his earlier reaction to her nearness.

In an attempt to dissuade her advances, he said, "Your father, is not what I expected."

"No, I'm sure he isn't," Hawke said, slowing her pace. "But then again, you turned out to be quite the surprise yourself."

"How so?" he asked, noticing the inches between them disappearing.

"Well, at first I thought you were handsome and mysterious," she said, bringing a slender finger to her lips, as she considered him. "Then I thought you were rude and insufferable, after we met in Darktown. But after tonight, I'm curious about you - your passion for your friend, your status as a Grey Warden." She was no longer looking him in the eye, but was fixated on his mouth. "There's also what happened outside. I do believe we were about this close," Hawke reminded him, and brought her hand to his face.

From what he'd seen of that kiss with the dark-haired woman at the Hanged Man, Hawke wasn't the serious type when it came to romance. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself - that he wasn't interested in a dalliance, that his heart was no plaything. Yet, that same heart began to beat rapidly in his chest from her nearness, and it was telling a him a far different story. He was caught, transfixed, a war waging between his body and his mind, and he had no idea what to do.

A voice saved him. From the other side of the door, a woman's voice called, "Ambrosia? Are you in there?"

Hawke pulled away from him and took a few steps back, putting distance between them as the doorknob turned.

The door flew open and an attractive grey-haired woman poked her head in. "There you are, Ambrosia. I've been looking all over for you. Bethany needs help with her coiffure." The woman, obviously Hawke's mother, glanced at him dismissively. "You know only you can tame that wild mess on her head after she's washed it."

"Ambrosia?" Anders mouthed, and could barely contain his laughter.

"I'll be there in a minute, Mother," Hawke replied, then mouthed backed to Anders, "Shut up."

After Leandra left, Anders couldn't help but ask, "Just how many names do you have?"

Her mouth bowed into that perfect little pout he'd noticed she often favored. "One. Amber," she said distinctly, and led him to the front door. "And don't you forget it." She gave his back a little push that sent him staggering out into the night, before she shut the door firmly behind him.

As Anders made his way back to Darktown, he thought that was exactly the problem. Forget her? Much to his consternation, he couldn't seem to get Hawke out of his head.

* * *

_Cowritten by Fenzev and Wintryone_


	5. Chapter 5

A soothing warmth radiated through his neck as Orsino sent trickles of magic to his tightened muscles. For most of the evening he'd sat behind his desk, working on his letter writing campaign, in the hopes of brightening his future. Starkhaven, Montsimmard, Hossberg, even the College of Magi in Cumberland sounded promising.

The message to First Enchanter Luidweg of Ansburg had been his longest; the overwhelming desire to return home causing an ache in his heart. He had not seen his sisters for decades, nor visited the graves of his parents since their passing. It would be a dream come true should they accept his transfer. Any of the other Circles scattered across Thedas would be a welcomed change from Kirkwall. He hated it here, he realized, as he looked up to see the constant reminder of his failure lingering in the doorway to his office.

"Orsino," Malcolm said, eyes glancing over the somewhat disheveled man. "Have you been here all night again?"

What did he care, Orsino wondered? Not every mage had the luxury of leaving the Gallows and going home to their wife and children. In fact, only one had that privilege, and that Malcolm had received the position of Peacekeeper over Orsino left a bitter taste in the old elf's mouth. That position should have been rightly his! He'd been in Kirkwall since he was just a young boy, after all. The youngest First Enchanter in Thedas, and now nearly the oldest.

"It seems my work is never done," Orsino replied as Malcolm entered his office, and took a seat across from him. "I admit, I'll probably retire until this afternoon, once our business is concluded of course."

Malcolm nodded. "You look completely exhausted. The morning off from your duties should help."

"Yes," Orsino agreed, though he despised hearing it from the younger mage. "What is it I can do for you, Peacekeeper?" He couldn't seem to help that he'd pronounced Malcolm's title with a hint of derision.

Malcolm took no notice, and leaned forward in his chair, keeping his voice low as he spoke. "I've been asked to inquire about the welfare of one of your mages, Karl Thekla. There's a rumor he has been... detained."

Orsino brought a hand to his temple, his long fingers massaging the throbbing ache that began to form there. "Perhaps you should be across the hall, speaking with the knight-commander," Orsino replied. "She claims to have intercepted correspondence between Karl and someone from the outside, which cast the Templars in a very poor light. Enchanter Thekla is currently in the dungeons, awaiting whatever punishment Meredith sees fit."

"Then I suppose Meredith is going to have a disappointing morning," Malcolm said as he stood. "Get some rest, Orsino," he said as he walked toward the exit of Orsino's office. "Oh, and next time one of your mages is locked up? I would appreciate hearing it from you, and not my daughter."

Orsino was thankful Malcolm had shut the door before he could see the hate filling the First Enchanter's eyes. His condescending tone will be his undoing one of these days, Orsino thought, as he retrieved a blank parchment from his drawer. And just how did Malcolm's daughter find out about Karl? It couldn't have been Bethany, the girl only left her home for parties and tea. That other one, Ambrosia, was known to linger in Lowtown, and must have a connection somewhere.

It seemed Orsino's morning of writing letters was not yet complete, as he decided a note to his old friend Quentin would help ease his troubled mind.

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Isabela was no stranger to Darktown, so finding the location of the handsome apostate mage barely caused her any effort at all. The lit lanterns framing the battered doors were themselves a dead giveaway, shining brightly against the slime infested walls. If he were looking for a beacon to guide the undercity's worst to him, he'd found it. The huddles of sick and injured people waiting outside the renowned healer's clinic surprised her, and though she hated to admit it, humbled her. Hawke was always ready with a healing potion, or had Bethany waiting in the wings should her friends need assistance. These people were made to wait, wallowing in their pain, until the one man who could help them had the time and mana to ease their suffering.

Shaking her head to clear it of such intrusive thoughts, Isabela kept a hand on her hidden dagger as she moved through the crowd. Sick or not, they were still poor, and would slit her throat for her coin without a second thought. Avoiding eye contact helped, as she focused on the doors to the clinic. She pushed through one swiftly, and slipped inside before closing it upon the heated, accusatory words of the crowd. They probably assumed she was cutting some imaginary line, but healing was not the purpose of her visit.

Anders appeared to be deep in concentration, his hands emitting an silvery-white glow as they moved along a woman's leg. Isabela leaned against the front wall as she watched a gaping wound begin to close, skin stitching together before her eyes. It was fascinating to watch the man work, the way his fingers danced along the woman's flesh. His actions reminded her of a mage she'd once met back in Ferelden, and she briefly wondered whatever had become of that man. The things he could do with his hands...

"You," a man gruffly called in her direction, startling Isabela out of her memory. "How'd you get in here?"

Isabela pushed off the wall and moved toward the table where the injured woman lay moaning. "I walked, much like anyone else, I imagine," she said, taking a closer look at the woman's leg. Looking up at Anders, she added, "nice work."

"It's alright, Deryn," Anders said to the assistant, who had censured Isabela. "Please escort Nia home, and tell the others I need a minute alone to recuperate."

"Of course," Deryn nodded, though he scowled deeply at Isabela. Nia, the woman Anders had healed, gave her thanks as Deryn helped her from the table and led her out the clinic doors.

Anders busied himself by washing his hands in a small basin, ignoring the sultry look the pirate was giving him once they were finally alone. "You're Amber's girlfriend, right?" he said, hoping his tone came off as casually as he had intended.

Isabela moved around the perimeter of the small clinic, perusing the shelves of potions and poultices, herbs and books. "The name's Isabela," she said, reaching for a leaf, which she brought to her nose. "Formerly Captain Isabela, though it's only a temporary setback." She wrinkled her nose as she inhaled the pungent scent of elfroot. "And no, I wouldn't say girlfriend, exactly."

Anders wiped his hands on a towel before placing the cloth beside the basin. Folding his arms across his chest, he turned to watch Isabela wander the room. "You kiss all your friends like that, do you?" he asked, referring to the steaming kiss he had witnessed at the Hanged Man.

Isabela shrugged. "Maybe. Why, do you want to be friends?"

Anders involuntarily took a step back as an unwanted picture of kissing Isabela formed in his mind. "I'll pass, but thank you," he replied sardonically. "Did Amber send you? Do you bring news?" He had hoped to hear from her today regarding Karl, nearly desperate to know if Malcolm was able to find out if the mage was alright.

"Amber doesn't know I'm here," Isabela admitted. "And I'd prefer it remain that way."

A sigh of disappointment escaped him before he settled onto a battered, wooden crate. This waiting was torturing him, causing him to feel helpless. He was filled with self-loathing, knowing that he remained a free man, while Karl was stuck in the Gallows enduring who knew what manner of torture. Even though he was labeled an apostate, Anders had the ability to move about the city, while Karl was more than likely trapped within the dungeons at the mercy of sadistic Templar jailers.

Anders had kept himself busy by assisting the local Ferelden refugees, but still his thoughts drifted to Karl throughout the day, as well as to the woman who had surprisingly offered to help him. He hated to admit it, but he was curious why Isabela had paid him a visit. "If Amber didn't send you, then may I ask, why are you here?"

She pulled a sharp little knife from her belt, and began to casually clean her fingernails. "While Amber is not mine to claim," Isabela said, "she is, I suppose, special to me. So I bring a word of advice, sweet thing," she continued, and crossed the distance between them, the small dagger held loosely in her hand. "Be very, very careful in your future behavior toward my friend. Another incident like what happened here in Darktown a few days ago, and you'll get to see my not-so-nice side."

The audacity of her threat nearly caused Anders to lose control, though with some effort, he kept his anger in check. He stared up at her in disbelief. "You'd walk into my clinic, a sanctum of healing and salvation, and threaten me?"

"Not a threat darling, a promise," Isabela stated. "Amber is a sweet girl, too much so for her own good, sometimes. Her friends look out for her, not to mention her family. Maker knows what she sees in you, but the girl is obviously smitten." She peered down at him and smiled sweetly. "Tread carefully."

Anders rose from the crate, giving him the advantage of looking down at her. He wasn't sure why, but hearing that Hawke may be attracted to him caused his insides to warm. He had to admit he'd suspected as much, the way she'd pressed herself against him the prior evening, and again in her father's study. But in truth, he'd taken her as nothing more than a common flirt, especially after the way he had witnessed the two women kissing. "Your threats are unnecessary," he tried. "I have no interest in her."

Isabela's laugh echoed loudly within the small room. "Oh please, I saw the way you looked at her as you healed that cut on her arm. You are as smitten as she is." The rogue smiled slyly. "Not that I blame you; the woman is beautiful, and very satisfying behind closed doors, if you catch my drift."

He shifted uncomfortably from his body's reaction to the images Isabela's words brought to mind. "I barely know her," Anders said, not exactly denying Isabela's accusation.

"That would never stop me," Isabela admitted. "But, you will get to know her. And when you do, you will no doubt want to pursue her. When that time comes, remember our little chat, alright?"

Anders couldn't help but stare as the sultry pirate sashayed her way out of his clinic, closing the door with her hip, before disappearing from view. He wasn't quite sure what had just taken place; did the woman just warn him not to get involved with Hawke? Or give him her permission?

It was enough to make his head spin, so he pushed the thought aside for now, and prepared to assist the next patient. Yet throughout the rest of that busy, exhausting day, thoughts of Amber Hawke sneakily entered his mind.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

"Thanks for coming with me, Varric," Hawke said as they climbed the never-ending stone stairway which led to the Keep. It seemed in Kirkwall you were always going up or down flights of steps.

"No problem, Hawke," he replied. "I figured I owed you one after landing you in that mess with Blondie."

Hearing Varric mention Anders conjured up the feeling of their bodies pressed tightly against each other, as they'd hid from Cullen the previous night. Hawke gave an involuntary shiver.

"You cold, Rosebud?" asked Varric. "I'd offer you my jacket, but I don't think it would fit."

Thankfully, the new image wearing a dwarven jacket dispelled the first one, and Hawke laughed. "I'm fine Varric," she said. "Goose walked over my grave, I suppose."

Varric chuckled. "What does that mean, exactly? I've never understood how a waterfowl can walk over a grave that doesn't exist yet."

"I have no idea," Hawke said, still laughing. The guards that stood sentry at the wide double doors glared at them, as if being amused was somehow breaking the law. "Good afternoon gentlemen. Fine weather we're having, isn't it?"

"Good day, milady," the guard said stiffly.

"You only get away with that because you're daddy is Peacekeeper," Varric muttered in an aside, as they passed through the doors.

Today they were having lunch with Aveline and her husband, Ser Wesley, who was the only married Templar Hawke had ever heard of. Because of his unusual status, when Wesley's shift was over at the Gallows, he was allowed to return across the bay to the small apartment he and Aveline kept, just down the hall from the barracks. Hawke hadn't known Aveline long enough to feel comfortable asking her how it was that she'd wed a Templar, and she didn't know Wesley at all. Today, she hoped that would change.

She'd considered inviting Bethany or Carver to accompany her, but had decided that she'd really rather have a pleasant afternoon, than put up with her sister's snobbishness, or be embarrassed by how much Carver drank. No, Varric was a much better choice, because it guaranteed the afternoon would not be dull, at least.

When Aveline opened the door to greet them, Hawke was struck again by just how red the guardswoman's hair was. The sprinkling of freckles across her nose would have been powered into nonexistence by any normal Orlesian lady. Aveline, quite obviously, did not care about fashion. In fact, even though she was not wearing her usual city guard armor today, the sleeveless chained tunic and leather greaves she wore were not in any way feminine. Hawke became even more curious as to just what sort of person Aveline was, behind the closed doors of her apartment.

"Hawke, I'm glad you could come," Aveline said as she ushered them into the room. "Varric," she added as if in an afterthought.

"Good to see you, Aveline," Hawke replied. "It was kind of you to invite us."

Aveline eyed the dwarf, as if in a silent statement that she hadn't really invited him, but put a strained smile on her face as she led them into the sitting room. "Have a seat," she said, and gestured to a stiff-back bench set close to the fireplace. "Wesley will join us soon, he's just finishing up in the kitchen."

So, Wesley was the cook in the family. How very interesting.

It was pretty apparent that Aveline was far from comfortable as she took her own seat, and very politely asked, "You're family is well, I hope?"

Hawke nearly snorted. "If you mean is Carver out drunk somewhere, the answer is probably yes." She smiled broadly at the guardswoman. "But no worries, he's on his own. If he ends up in the dungeons, so be it."

"It might do him good," said Aveline seriously. "Bit of a tit, your brother."

"That's putting it mildly," agreed Hawke, but still felt a vague uneasiness that Aveline would so blithely criticize Carver.

Sensing the tension, Varric rubbed his hands together and asked, "So, what's on the menu?"

Wesley entered the room then, wiping his hands on a towel as he approached. He was smiling, but there was a pinched look about his eyes that let Hawke know she wasn't imagining the tension in the small room.

"Wesley Vallen," he said, holding out his now clean hand for Hawke to take. For some reason Hawke had expected him to be wearing his full Templar regalia, but he was dressed in a loose cotton shirt and a rather ratty looking pair of brown pants.

Hawke stood and shook his hand. "Amber Hawke," she said, then gestured toward the dwarf. "And my friend, Varric Tethras."

"Good to meet you both," he said, and shook Varric's hand, as well. The Templar, however, avoided any further pleasantries and simply said, "Lunch is served if you would follow me."

Hawke glanced at Varric, who simply shrugged his shoulders. They followed Aveline and Wesley into a cramped dining room, which was almost entirely filled by a round table laden with various steaming dishes. At least the food did smell wonderful.

An awkward silence prevailed as the platters and bowls were passed around, and plates filled with tempting dishes. Despite the feast set before them, Hawke was beginning to regret accepting Aveline's invitation because of the underlying tension that pervaded the small gathering. She took a deep breath, however, preparing to make the best of it.

Hawke knew that Aveline and Wesley had barely escaped the Blight in Ferelden with their lives, and had arrived in Kirkwall only the year before. If not for Wesley's Templar status, they would have been shuffled into the undercity with the rest of the refugees, she was sure. Hawke was dying to ask how a Templar came to be married, but decided on a safer topic of conversation, or so she thought.

"So, how are things at the Gallows, Ser Wesley?" she asked, a placid smile on her face.

The Templar glanced at her sharply and said, "I'm sure you'd know the answer to that better than me."

"Wesley," Aveline warned in a low tone.

Wesley frowned at his wife, before he addressed Hawke again. "Forgive me, serah. The Gallows is filled with tension these days. Meredith is squeezing the Templars as if we're lemons and she's attempting to make juice."

Before Hawke could answer, Aveline cut in. "Ser Cullen doesn't seem to have a problem handling Meredith," she said snidely.

Hawke saw Varric's eyes light up as the tension mounted. She knew he was already spinning a story in his head. "Goosed in the Gallows," or something, she thought with an inner laugh. Hawke tried to say something diplomatic, but Wesley spoke first.

He set down his knife with a loud clattering and said, "That woman rides me from dawn until dusk. Always hounding me for information about the Viscount's office, as if having a wife in the guard grants me access to Dumar, himself."

"Wesley," Aveline bit out. "Mind your tongue."

Hawke watched in fascination as several expressions worked their way across Wesley's face. Anger, humiliation, frustration. The man was certainly expressive - he should have been an actor, she thought to herself, and bit back the smile that tried to form on her face.

Finally, she managed to get a word in as Aveline and Wesley silently fumed at each other. "I've heard that there's been a new training regimen enacted," she said in an attempt to defuse the situation. "Trips out to the Wounded Coast, wasn't it?"

Sullenly, Wesley replied, "True. I'm scheduled to leave for several days myself, next week."

Aveline rolled her eyes, as if next week couldn't happen soon enough. Hawke began to eat faster, hoping to end this visit quickly, and was grateful when Varric began to regale them with a story about an Antivan assassin named Zevran, who'd helped the Hero of Ferelden end the Blight. Where he came up with these stories, Hawke could never figure out. She doubted such an elf ever existed, to be honest.

They didn't linger after the meal, Hawke claiming another engagement she must attend.

On their way back down the steps to Hightown, Varric looked up at her with a grimace. "You know I love you, Rosebud, but I'm never doing that again."

Hawke laughed. "That makes two of us."

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"Cullen!" Bethany squealed as he chased her around the room. "You'll ruin my gown!"

Cullen laughed and finally caught her around the waist, his hand lifting to her bosom. He tugged hard at the silk cloth there, sending buttons scattering across the bed. "I told you what would happen if I found you here with your clothes still on," he said with a wicked grin. His mouth captured hers possessively as his hand slipped over her breast and began to explore her soft flesh.

All fight went out of Bethany as Cullen worked his own brand of magic on her. She opened for him, and he immediately plunged his tongue into her mouth, reclaiming his territory. These afternoon trysts in their "special" apartment at the Blooming Rose were Bethany's little rebellion, one she thought was a well-kept secret. They made her feel wicked and wanton, in a way that she found delicious, perhaps all the more so because she knew her proper mother would be horrified.

When the handsome young Templar recruit had arrived in Kirkwall, wanting to work with the famous Malcolm Hawke, Bethany had been almost immediately overwhelmed with desire for him. He'd arrived not long before the Blight had hit Ferelden, and he'd often told her of the horror stories that came to him in letters, from his old friends at Kinloch Hold.

It was scandalous really. Bethany had only been seventeen the first time she'd thrown herself at Cullen, behind the Reinhardt's estate in a far corner of the garden. To his honor, he had tried to resist her at first. Yet what man could deny a young maiden stripping out of her clothes on a moonlit summer night?

Not Ser Cullen, she thought with a wry smile. It had been delicious, and from the very first, he'd brought her body to blissful heights more wonderful than any young girl's dreams.

Another devious little thought arose in her mind, and she began to gather her mana for a spell - a force spell that would push her amorous lover away from her, thus beginning the cat and mouse chase all over again. She loved the pursuit almost as much as she loved being caught.

Cullen pinched her nipple, causing her to gasp. "Stop it, little mageling," he said against her mouth. "I feel your power building."

Bethany didn't stop, and continued to let her mana increase. She was almost ready to release it, when she felt the draining power of a smite leach her power from her. If Cullen hadn't held her in his arms so tightly, she would have fallen to her knees.

"No fair," she whispered, barely able to form the words.

"All's fair in love and war, didn't you know?" he murmured, as he lifted her into his arms and fell with her onto the bed. His hand traveled along her thigh, until it reached the thin strip of her panties, and swiftly pulled them off of her. He found her ready for him, sweet moisture met his insistent fingers, and her soft moan only encouraged him more.

"What do you want?" he asked as he removed the ties to his smalls and positioned himself between her legs.

"You," she whimpered. "I want you. All of you."

"As you wish," he said as he pushed into her, filling her completely with one, powerful thrust.

Bethany groaned and lifted her bottom from the bed, granting him greater access, allowing him an ease of movement as he began to set a steady, pounding rhythm.

As the ecstasy overtook her, as it always did with her Templar, she thought that love was highly overrated. Sex was ever so much better.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

Malcolm hesitated at the large door, gathering his strength to face what waited for him on the other side. It was a ritual he had grown accustomed to; deep, cleansing breaths, ridding his mind of all thoughts before entering the room. Piercing crystal blue eyes gazed at him from beneath soft blond hair, as she lifted her head to see who had come into her office.

Meredith stood as he closed the door. "Peacekeeper," she addressed him formally.

"Knight-Commander," Malcolm replied, sliding the bolt on the door into its locked position before walking toward her. "I believe there are a few matters we must discuss."

The tall woman walked around her desk to stand in front of it, a frown forming on her face. "Directly to the point as always," Meredith said. "What grandiose misdeeds have I committed now? Restricted the nightly meal of the mages? Forbidden them to take baths for weeks? Or perhaps I've caged a few because of suspicious activity?"

"All of the above," Malcolm said without hesitation. "Were you in my position, what sort of punishment would you enact for such crimes?"

"None," Meredith replied, "as they are a part of my duty to this city, to keep it safe from the destruction of mages."

Malcolm nodded. "And we all know how destructive we mages can be," he added, moving closer to her.

"Very destructive," she agreed. "If I had my way, none of you would ever see the light of day."

"How fortunate for me that you never get your way," Malcolm said, before swiftly closing the remaining gap between them. He captured her cheeks in his hands and pressed his lips to hers, forcefully demanding entrance.

Meredith immediately allowed the intrusion, wrapping her arms around his neck. For several moments they channeled their energy into the passionate kiss before breaking apart. "Maker, I have missed you," Meredith said as she pulled him into her strong embrace.

"And I, you," Malcolm replied, before pushing her back onto her desk. "Allow me to show you just how much."

* * *

_Cowritten by Fenzev and Wintryone_


	6. Chapter 6

"You're coming with me, Blondie," said Varric as he grabbed Anders by the arm and started to drag him from the clinic.

"But wait, where are we going?" He was half afraid Varric was dragging him off to the Gallows.

"You'll see," replied Varric. "And relax, there are no Templars involved in this little expedition."

"I never agreed..." Anders said as he attempted to resist the vice-like grip the dwarf had on his arm.

"I beg to differ," Varric replied cheerfully, as if they were out for an afternoon stroll. "When Rosebud needs us, we come running. That's what you do when you're her friend."

"I'm her friend?" Ander asked. He gave up the struggle and began keeping pace with the dwarf.

"You went to her for help, Blondie," Varric replied. "That makes you her friend."

"Why do you call her Rosebud, anyway?" Anders asked, not wanting to pursue the subject any further.

"Oh no," Varric said with a chuckle. "Not going there."

Just outside the gates, he saw Hawke standing, talking to the strange, tattooed elf he'd noticed at the Hanged Man the other night. Hard to miss someone who looked like that, but Anders hadn't known he was another of Hawke's 'friends.' The woman had a very odd assortment of acquaintances.

"I thought my father hired you for this job, Varric," Hawke said as they drew near.

"I knew you wouldn't want to miss out on the fun, "Varric replied happily.

Hawke smirked, and it was quite impressive.

She had her long, dark hair pulled tightly into a ponytail at the crown of her head, and her cheeks were flushed from the warming sun. Isabela was right, she was beautiful, and his mind strayed to what else Isabela had said about Hawke 'behind closed doors.' Anders felt his own cheeks begin to burn. It wasn't as if he'd never been with a woman, he had - plenty of them during his days in Denerim. But after he'd met Karl, he thought perhaps his woman-chasing days were over. He'd found something with his fellow mage he'd never felt before; caring, warmth, affection.

Now, Anders' best hope for Karl was to get him out of Kirkwall alive, and with his mind intact. His heart filled with sadness that they would be parted, perhaps forever. It was then that Anders felt the familiar stirring inside, reacting to his emotional state, and he immediately refocused on his companions.

The elf was staring at him quite intently. "Varric's brought the feathered apostate with him," he remarked.

Hawke suppressed a grin, and in a fair imitation of the elf's deep baritone said, "Why yes, so he has."

"Not very impressive," the elf continued, and glanced down at Hawke. "You could certainly do better."

Anders scowled at the elf, unsure if he was referring to himself, or Hawke's imitation. Dismissing the thought for now, he turned to Hawke. "What's this about?" he asked, still unsure if this were some sort of trick.

She looked at him as if judging whether the elf's statement were true or not. A long, slow perusal from toe to head. "You'll do," she told him, before getting down to business. "Father hired Varric to deliver a message to the Dalish camped at Sundermount." She gestured to herself and the elf. "We're backup. Anders meet Fenris. Fenris, this is Anders."

The elf gave him a slight nod, which he barely returned. "Why didn't your father just send you?" Anders asked, still eying Fenris suspiciously.

Hawke laughed. "You're kidding right?"

Varric interrupted before he could answer. "We need to get moving, Rosebud, if we're going to make it back before dark."

Hawke nodded, and they set off toward the coast.

It wasn't long before Anders understood just why Varric needed backup. He hadn't been out to the Wounded Coast on his own, much less Sundermount, thinking it was better to keep a low profile in Darktown. So when a group of bandits attempted to ambush them, he was glad he never had.

It was obvious the three of them had fought together before, the way that Hawke and Fenris moved into the group, while Varric scurried uphill and began to use his crossbow to great effect. Anders had seen some combat himself, during his time with the Wardens, and he followed Varric, before turning to target individual bandits with his famous lightning spell. He watched in satisfaction as a bolt flew from his staff and forked over three of their attackers, sending them to the ground in a flurry of sparks. It was easy to avoid hitting the elf, the way his tattoos glowed, but he had to take special care to avoid Hawke. She was all over the place - appearing and disappearing faster than he could keep track of.

His heart lurched when Hawke took a particularly nasty stab in her right shoulder, and he released healing energy from his staff before he'd realized what he had done. The tight grin she gave him before she tumbled behind her attacker and put her blade through his neck, caused another internal flutter, and this time he could feel an unwanted, stronger stirring there, too. The last thing he needed was to lose control of himself, so he did his best to return his focus to the battle, though his aim was not quite what it had been.

It was over rather quickly, and soon Varric and Hawke were looting the corpses while Fenris kept watch for strays.

"Poor pickings," grumbled Varric as they resumed their journey to Sundermount.

Hawke ignored the dwarf's grousing, and instead asked, "So, what's in the letter, Varric?"

"Now Rosebud, why would you ask me a question like that?" Varric objected. "It's a private message to the Keeper of the Dalish!"

Hawke laughed, and behind them Anders heard Fenris snort.

"Yeah? So what does it say?" she asked again through her laughter.

Varric looked from side to side, ridiculously checking to make sure they were not overheard. The only thing Anders could see were some white gulls skimming the surface of the sea, and a lot of shrubs and rocks.

Hawke led them down a path that forked to the right, when Varric finally replied.

"Apparently," he explained, "we're delivering some bad news to the Dalish Keeper. A few nights ago, one of their elves, a mage with those weird tattoos, was captured and killed in the alienage."

Suddenly Anders remembered the Templar ruckus the other night, the one that had made him late to his meeting with Varric. "They nearly caught me, as well," he offered, remembering his narrow escape.

Hawke glanced at him, a worried frown creasing her brow, but Varric had continued speaking.

"Glad they didn't, Blondie," he said. "From what the letter says, the reason they killed her, instead of just capturing her, was because she used blood magic." Varric shook his head. "According to the Templars, they lost one of their best men before they took her down."

Hawke shivered. She'd never been exposed to blood magic, but had heard enough lectures from her father on the subject to hope that she never did. "So why are we delivering the news, instead of a Templar?"

Varric chuckled. "Think about it Rosebud. A Templar walking into a Dalish camp?"

Hawke smiled ruefully. "Oh, right."

"Anyway, it's even more complicated than just a dead blood mage. They found some weird magical mirror at her place." He fished for the piece of parchment and scanned the document before saying, "Something called an eluvian, very ancient, supposedly. Your father thinks the artifact should be destroyed, but wants to offer it back to the Dalish as a symbol of respect."

"Yes, that would be my father, ever the Peacekeeper," Hawke said.

"And from the way the letter ends," he said as he put the letter away, "the Peacekeeper also wants a meeting, to discuss a few things with the Keeper, including establishing their camp at Sundermount as a more permanent home."

"Really?" Anders couldn't help his shocked expression. He never heard of any human, other than the Warden, who cared a fig for what happened to the elves.

Before anyone could respond, however, they rounded a huge boulder, and ahead of them stood a narrow entrance to a large clearing at the foot of the mountain. Anders could see brightly colored aravel sails, swaying in the breeze, and two well-armed elves guarding the way in.

"Halt human," said the male elf as soon as they approached.

"Two humans, a dwarf and an elf, if you care about accuracy," Varric said, unperturbed by their less-than friendly greeting. "I have a message from the Peacekeeper of Kirkwall, for Keeper Marathari," he said, producing the document.

The female elven warrior took the parchment Varric held out to her and scanned it briefly. "Very well," she said. "The Keeper will see you, but mind your step."

"We'll be watching," added the other elf.

Anders had never been inside a Dalish camp before, and was surprised by the homey feel of it, even in this barren place. Groups of elves were scattered about the clearing, some talking among themselves, others engaged in various tasks of which he had no understanding. He felt a certain, brief, stirring inside him. Despite that they were outcasts from society, there was such a sense of freedom in this place.

His thoughts were cast aside as their group approached the elf who most certainly was the Keeper. She was older than the rest, her nearly white hair piled on top of her head in a loose bun. Her sparkling green eyes were keen, unwavering, and seemed to take each of their measures with merely a glance. He also noticed the long, gnarled staff on her back. The Keeper was a mage.

The elf nodded to them. "Greetings, travelers. I am Keeper Marathari, the leader of these Dalish."

Varric approached the Keeper and bowed slightly. "Varric Tethras, at your service," he said. "These are my companions, Amber Hawke, Fenris and Anders." He gestured to each of them.

"You are welcome here," said the Keeper. "Tell me, what brings you to us, so far from Kirkwall?"

Varric nudged Hawke in her ribs, and she looked down at him incredulously, shaking her head very discreetly.

"Amber is the daughter of the Peacekeeper, and brings tidings, and this letter to you from her father," said Varric, forcing Hawke into the role of spokesperson, as he handed the parchment to Marathari.

The Keeper barely looked at the letter in her hand before turning her inquiring eyes to Hawke, who shot the dwarf an annoyed glance before turning to the Keeper with a strained smile. "I'm afraid the tidings are of a sad nature," she said gently. "One of your clan has lost her life in a battle with the Templars. She was wearing this."

Marathari sucked in a quick breath as she examined the etched, ironbark ring Hawke had handed to her. The Keeper's voice was filled with sorrow as she said only, "Merrill. "

"Merrill," repeated Hawke softly, as she bowed her head. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Keeper Marathari."

Anders couldn't help but be impressed by the way Hawke was handling the situation. She'd definitely inherited some of her father's diplomatic ways. He watched as the Keeper bowed her head slightly, deflated from the news. In a small clan like this, the loss of one person would be a terrible blow, he imagined.

Finally, the Keeper looked up at them, and though her eyes held a deep sorrow, they contained no tears. "Merrill was my First," she said. "My apprentice. She left us when she found an ancient elven artifact, and became obsessed with the old ways." Marathari shook her head sadly. "I knew it was the wrong path, yet she would not listen."

"My father mentions an artifact, if you would only read the letter," Hawke said softly.

The Keeper nodded, and spent a few minutes reading Malcolm's words. When she had finished, she looked up at them. "Tell your Father I would be honored to meet with him," she said. "Though I cannot say I am comfortable coming into the city."

Varric spoke up. "The Peacekeeper has guaranteed your safety, himself, Keeper."

"Very well," she replied thoughtfully. "Tell him I will come to Kirkwall in two days time, three hours past sunrise." The expression in her eyes grew fierce as she added, "And inform the Peacekeeper he may destroy the artifact."

If Hawke was surprised by the Keeper's vehemence, she did not show it. Instead, she nodded slightly and replied, "As you wish."

After that, Anders lost track of the conversation as Varric and Hawke continued to discuss the particulars with the Keeper. Instead, the way Hawke's mouth moved as she spoke captured his full attention. A single lock of hair had escaped the tight ponytail she wore, and was flirting with her lips in the errant breeze that came down from the mountain. More than anything, he wanted to brush it away from her mouth, wanted to run his fingers along the soft line of her cheek. He didn't know how long he stood there staring at her, before Varric poked him in the ribs.

"Come on, Blondie, our work here is done," he said. "You can ogle Amber on our way back to Kirkwall."

Anders noticed then that the Keeper was walking back toward one of the aravels, and blushed crimson when he saw the amused way Hawke was now looking at him. Disgruntled, he turned and left the others to follow as they would.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

Anders had kept a small lead ahead of the group as they made their way back to Kirkwall. He hadn't appreciated the way Varric had teased him at Sundermount, his embarrassment slow to fade even as they travelled several hours along the rugged trail. Hawke and the others made idle chatter behind him, and he was able to ignore them for the most part. They certainly had a familiarity among them, one that Anders wasn't quite sure he fit into.

For a moment, he was happy to see they had finally reached the city, until the sun glared off the unmistakable armor of three Templars. Anders halted his approach, Hawke nearly bumping into him, he'd stopped so quickly.

"What is it?" she asked, before standing beside him to see what he was staring at.

The Templars advanced, and Hawke noticed it was Cullen leading the group. "Let me take care of this," she whispered to Anders.

"No," he muttered, though when she turned to inquire as to why, Hawke realized he wasn't speaking directly to her. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, and a flash of blue light shown within his eyes for a moment. His breathing became irregular, and Hawke placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"Anders, calm down," she warned as Cullen grew closer. "No harm will come to you today, I promise you."

He seemed to relax slightly in response to her words, but remained tense as Cullen approached. Hawke released her hold on Anders and stepped forward to greet the Templars. "Knight-Captain Cullen," she addressed him formally. "What is this about?"

"Your presence is requested in the Gallows Mistress Hawke," Cullen stated. "Your friend's as well," he added, nodding toward Anders.

Fenris and Varric stood behind the two, and Varric pointedly adjusted Bianca. "Trouble Rosebud?" Varric asked.

"Not at all, Varric," she said while keeping her eyes on Cullen, as if searching for some confirmation. The Templar nodded, and Hawke glanced over her shoulder at the dwarf. "If you and Fenris would head back to the Hanged Man, we'll catch up with you later."

"We'll be waiting, Amber," Fenris told her, casting a threatening glance at Cullen before they walked on.

"The reason for this welcoming committee?" Hawke asked, once her friends were out of earshot.

"Your father has arranged for Anders to meet with Karl," Cullen said, and Hawke noticed some of the tension within Anders' rigid form dissipate. "We should make haste; there isn't much time before the Knight-Commander returns from her meeting with the Viscount."

The journey to the Gallows was quiet, and continued to be so once they'd entered. The walk through the massive halls was certainly creepy. Though their path was blessedly free of other mages, probably intentionally, the walls seemed to close in around Hawke as she moved. She was no mage, had no fear of being locked within, but the suffocating feeling and utter depression radiating from the gray-stoned surroundings was enough to depress even the happiest of people. She cast a sideward glance at Anders to see if he were feeling the same. His tense jaw, pursed lips, and clenched fists told her he was, and probably struggling within himself to move one foot in front of the other.

"We'll walk out of here today, I promise you," she assured him again, placing her hand on his arm.

Anders glanced down at her small hand as she held onto him, and covered it with his own. "Thank you," he whispered, before returning his hand to his side. Her support was welcomed, though he remained ready for anything. He knew very well what went on in places like this.

They turned the corner and entered a long corridor, where Cullen stopped in front of the first door they came to. He nodded to another Templar, who stood guard outside the door, and the man allowed them entrance. The room itself was as cold as the halls, white-stoned walls and floor, with only a battered table and two rickety chairs in the center. Seated at the table was Karl, who stood upon seeing Anders enter the room. The three filtered in, Cullen and Hawke close behind Anders.

Hawke watched as Anders closed the distance between himself and Karl. Their embrace was much more than a friendship, she realized, the way Anders brought his hand to the back of Karl's head and pulled him in close. Karl nearly did the same, resting his hand on the nape of Anders' neck as they pressed against each other. A moment later they pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads against one another, both men closing their eyes and relishing in the reunion. No, this was no mere friendship. This was intimacy, in its rawest form, and had they been alone, Hawke imagined they most certainly would have ended their embrace with a kiss.

Cullen pointedly cleared his throat, warning the two men to break apart. Reluctantly, they did so, but not before Anders took Karl's hand and continued to hold it after they were seated at the table. Hawke hooked her elbow around Cullen's and pulled him back toward the doorway, attempting to give the two mages as much privacy as possible.

"He needs to contact the Wardens immediately," Cullen said in a hushed tone to Hawke. "While your father has managed to run interference from Meredith, I fear for Karl's safety among the other Templars."

Hawke replied without taking her eyes off Anders and Karl. "I'll make sure he gets the word out, if he hasn't done so already," she assured Cullen. "Should anything happen to Karl while in Templar custody however, you risk conflict with the Wardens now."

Cullen nodded. "I am doing everything within my power to prevent that."

"Thank you," Hawke said as she strained to hear what Karl and Anders were talking about. It was of little use though, their hushed tones and familiarity with each other led Hawke to believe that even if she could hear them, they were speaking in some code that only the two were privy to. Their history together must have been something, and thinking of it reminded Hawke that they had been in Kinloch Hold together. "Cullen, did you know the two of them when you were in Ferelden?"

"I came to Kirkwall with Karl before the Blight," Cullen informed her. "When my transfer was approved, the Knight-Commander in Ferelden tasked me with escorting Karl, as well."

"Why was he moved to Kirkwall?" Hawke asked.

"I believe your father requested him when rumors of Orsino's resignation as First Enchanter were circling the Gallows," Cullen said. "But then, Orsino changed his mind. Your father offered Karl the opportunity to return to Ferelden, but he chose to say." Nodding toward Anders, Cullen added, "Now I can see why."

First Karl was a potential new First Enchanter, and now he was a hair's length away from being made tranquil? The questions and conspiracy theories racing within Hawke's mind nearly made her dizzy, so she pushed them aside for now. "And Anders?"

"I'd never met him prior to today," Cullen said. "Though I had heard of him in Ferelden. It was impossible not to, as a lot of our training involved a history lesson in the many and varied ways he'd escaped the tower."

Anders past was certainly colorful, Hawke was learning quickly. Troublemaker in Ferelden, former Warden, has had romantic relations with men? What other secrets was he hiding, she wondered?

"Forgive me, Amber, but I feel as if I must speak on your father's behalf," Cullen said, interrupting her thoughts. "It is not wise for one of his daughters to be seen in the company of an apostate, even if he is a Warden."

Hawke studied the knight-captain's serious expression for a moment, carefully choosing her next words to him. "This, coming from the man who's bedding my sister?" she asked, enjoying the look of utter shock and embarrassment that crossed the young Templar's face. "As I'm sure you have your reasons for doing what you do, despite what is best for my father, so do I."

"How did you..." Cullen began to ask, but the scraping of chairs against the floor interrupted him.

Anders stood and walked over to Hawke and Cullen, a look of desperation behind his slightly watery eyes. "You have a Templar, Ser Alrik, who has been making threats towards Karl. Taunting him with a branding iron at night in his cell."

"Anders," Karl said, standing in protest.

"No," Anders called back to Karl, and again Hawke could've sworn she saw a hint of blue flash within the apostate's eyes. He took a few deep breaths as if to calm himself before turning his gaze back to Cullen. "Karl fears for his life under Alrik's watch. Can something be done about this? A change in rotation perhaps?"

Cullen nodded. "We can move Karl to a more private cell, to be guarded under a handful of Templars that I will choose, personally. I will delay disciplining Alrik until after Karl has left Kirkwall, to avoid repercussions of this accusation."

"Thank you," Anders said sincerely, before returning to Karl.

"How kind of you to offer assistance," Hawke said, a hint of surprise in her voice.

Cullen leaned against the wall as he continued to watch the mages. "This is not the first complaint I have heard against Alrik," Cullen admitted. "But do not twist my actions into sympathy for your apostate. I will do what I can, because your father has asked me to. Without his influence, your friend would be joining Karl in that cell."

Hawke patted Cullen on the arm. "Good to know how you really feel about mages," she said. "I wonder if my sister knows you wish her to be behind bars as well?"

Cullen opened his mouth to protest that statement, but Hawke was already walking away from him toward the table. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said. "But we really should be going."

Karl looked up at her. "Anders says I have you to thank for my pending freedom."

Hawke shook her head. "Don't thank me yet." Turning to Anders, she added, "You need to get word to the Wardens immediately. How soon do you think they can be here?"

Anders shrugged. "There's an outpost not far from here. After speaking with your father the other night, I sent a messenger. We should be hearing back from them any day now."

"Good," Hawke said. "The sooner the better. I'll leave you to say your goodbyes." To Karl she added, "May the next time I see you be outside of Kirkwall's walls."

It wasn't until they had left the Gallows, and were on the small vessel crossing the bay from the prison to the docks, that Anders allowed himself to breath naturally again. He inhaled deeply, relishing the scents of the ocean air, and embracing the warmth of the sun upon his face. Less than an hour they'd spent in the Gallows, but it was enough for him to know he never wished to return.

"I can not thank your father enough for allowing me to see Karl," Anders said as he watched Hawke run her hand along the water outside the boat. "Or you for your assistance with his release."

Hawke lifted her hand from the water, watching the drops fall from her fingertips. "I can't imagine what it is like to have your freedom taken from you," she thought aloud. "To think, if things were different, I could be visiting my father and sister in such a place..." she shuddered at the thought, her mind unable to comprehend a life without seeing her family every day.

"You are lucky in that regard," Anders agreed. "There are many more than just Karl, however. Hundreds of mages, locked within prisons all around Thedas. All for the sin of being born with a power we did not ask for." He felt his anger begin to surface, and did his best to suppress it.

"What is that?" Hawke asked, seeing the flash of blue light within his eyes, before he turned away.

"What?" he asked nonchalantly, refusing to meet her gaze as he stared out over the water.

Hawke shrugged. "Nothing, never mind," she said, though she continued to watch him. Whatever it was, she knew her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. Whenever he was afraid or angry, that spark lit from within. She'd first noticed it at the Hanged Man, and then at least three times today. But If Anders didn't want to talk about it, she wasn't going to push him.

For now, anyway.

* * *

_Co-written by Fenzev and Wintryone_


	7. Chapter 7

Carver shifted, and his stomach began to do backflips. _No, _he thought. _Lie still. Lie perfectly still._ As he did just that, he noticed two things. The first, was that his bed had somehow become hard as stone. And cold, also like stone. The second, was that he could hear voices, barely discernable voices, one male and one female.

He slit open one eye.

Brown, rotted wood met his vision. Sort of curved, and dotted with knot-holes. His gaze wandered, and took in the slice of blue sky, and dull, dirty walls. No, he was definitely not in his bed. From the look of things, he'd passed out in the alley, again. Balls.

He heard the Chantry bells echoing down from Hightown. Even from so far away, each one increased the pounding of his aching head, until they finally stopped. Eight bells. An indecent hour to be awake, no matter where you were.

The voices moved closer, and it occurred to him that he recognized the higher, female voice. It was that blasted guardswoman, Aveline.

Carver curled himself more tightly into a ball, and prayed to the Maker she didn't find him where he lay, behind a stack of barrels, knowing it was the dungeons for him this time if she did.

"Just two more days," Aveline was saying. "I can hardly wait."

There was a sound... was that lips smacking?

"How long will Wesley be gone?" asked the deep baritone voice once the smacking had stopped.

Wesley? Wasn't that Aveline's husband? The Templar? Where would he go?

"Three entire days. Glorious, sex-filled days, at that," she said, followed by more smacking.

Yes, they were definitely kissing, no doubt about it. And, whoever Aveline was kissing, it wasn't her husband. Did he dare risk a peek around the barrels? Carver attempted to lift his head, but the blinding pain that shot through his skull stopped his efforts. He really needed to lay off that Antivan brandy - stuff packed a punch that lasted for days. He ended up getting drunk again just to ward off the impending hangover.

Aveline's voice drifted nearby, as did the clank of heavy armor. "Did you arrange for the room?" she asked, and her tone was almost silky - nothing like the barking he usually heard from the guardswoman.

"Yes," the man replied. "A little shanty in the next alley over. Seems that Hawke girl you know, she cleared out a gang from there last week." More smacking. "I've installed new locks."

Aveline's voice trailed off as they rounded the corner, but Carver caught one small glimpse of the man she was with, before they faded from sight. Another guardsman, by the crest on his armor. Funny looking sort of chap, with the longest sideburns he had ever seen. Looked like he had a couple of rats glued to his face.

Carver closed his eyes again and let out a low moan. Somehow, he needed to make it home. The stench coming off him was so bad, even he couldn't stand it.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

Not very far away, in fact just around the corner, Hawke was tucked comfortably in a bed, her back pressed against a warm, voluptuous body. Her lover's arms were around her, one down low across her hips, the other slanted between breast, which were still sore and tingling from last night's love-play.

_Isabela does adore my breasts,_ Hawke thought with a sleepy smile. And Hawke enjoyed that Isabela preferred the dominant role in their bedroom fun. Nothing seemed to please her lover more than using her skillful mouth and dexterous fingers to bring Hawke to life, until she lay shaking and trembling in Isabela's arms. She'd also been a patient teacher, showing Hawke just what she liked, and how to set fire to her pirate lover's passionate nature, until they both were sweat-slicked and exhausted from hours and hours of... well, sex. Isabela always called it sex, never lovemaking.

Hawke was sure her lover was more than fond of her, and that had always been just the way she liked things. Attentive, passionate, and fun. The perfect initiation into intimacy really, in Hawke's opinion.

Last night had been no different, as they'd both brought so much pleasure to each other. And yet, for the first time, Hawke had felt the need for something more. Something she couldn't quite name, but that was somehow connected to a pair of warm, brown eyes and a set of magical, healing fingers.

If she'd admitted to Isabela that she'd thought of Anders while they were in the throes of passion, her lover would have laughed at her and suggested they invite the mage to join them. But Hawke didn't like the idea of Isabela touching Anders. Not at all.

The arms around her tightened, and lips were suddenly nibbling at her throat.

"Good morning, sweet thing," Isabela murmured against her neck.

Hawke squirmed and giggled, because now Isabela's fingers were working their way down between her thighs, as her other hand cupped the swell of her breast. As tempting as another tumble was, Hawke knew she didn't have time this morning. She was already late getting home, and Mother would have a fit if she missed another dress fitting.

It wasn't difficult to slip from Isabela's embrace, considering how sleepy her friend still was. She was on her feet and reaching for her clothes in seconds.

"No fair, Amber," Isabela complained with a pout. "I was just getting started."

"You know I have to go," Hawke replied. "Or Mother will go into hysterics."

Isabela avidly watched Hawke slip into her clothes, obviously pleased with the view. "Tonight then?" she asked.

Hawke hesitated, her fingers stilled on the last set of buttons.

Isabela sat up, and a wicked gleam shimmered in her eye. "I knew this was going to happen, eventually," she said.

Hawke's fingers resumed their task, more quickly than before. "What would happen?"

"I just knew that sweet heart of yours would start beating for someone else," Isabela replied, and stood up, in all her glorious nakedness. "It's alright, Amber. I'm always here for a little fun, whenever you want."

"My heart's not beating for anyone," Hawke replied. "I've just got a busy schedule over the next few days."

The laughter that suddenly filled the room nearly startled Hawke. "Whatever you say, Amber." Isabela took a few steps closer until they were mere inches from each other. "Do I get a goodbye kiss, at least?"

Hawke smiled, and took Isabela's face in her hands. Soon she was lost in the sultry lips and expert tongue of her lover, and it took her a minute to notice that her shirt was now halfway unbuttoned again.

"Isabela!" Hawke laughed, and slipped again from her arms. "You are incorrigible."

"That's my middle name, sweet thing," she agreed.

"I really do have to go," Hawke said, and with a last peck on Isabela's lips, she made her escape.

By the time she'd made her way downstairs, through the bar and out into the soft morning light, Hawke was still fully distracted by Isabela's attempts to waylay her. So, when she nearly ran into the staggering form of her brother, Hawke let out a curse.

"Amber," Carver slurred, as he winced and brought a hand to his temple. "Watch where you're going." He was swaying precariously, and despite the horrific odor coming off of him, Hawke put an arm around his waist to steady him.

"Where'd you pass out this time?" she asked as she began to lead him down the street. "You smell like a sewer."

"Alley, back there," he said, and nearly toppled them both when he swung his arm and tried to point.

"Just be still, brother," Hawke said. "We'll get you home and into a bath."

"Never guess what I saw," he said, peering down at her.

"Just watch where you put your feet," Hawke told him as they approached the steps that led to Hightown.

"That red-haired bitch," he continued as if Hawke hadn't spoken. "That guard."

"Come on, Carver, lift your bloody feet," Hawke said, exasperated. At this rate, they'd be near nightfall getting home. "Aveline?"

"Yeah, that one," he replied, and gingerly placed one foot on the next step. "Saw her with somebody, heard her smooching."

That was odd. Why would Wesley be on patrol with Aveline in Lowtown? Yet in truth, Hawke could care less if the guardswoman was kissing her husband in an alley. "Just a few more steps," she said. Carver was twice her weight and she was half afraid his staggering would send them both tumbling down the stone stairway.

"Wasn't that Templar, either," he said. "Guy had a furry face."

"What are you going on about, Carver?" Hawke asked. He was still obviously drunk, and probably didn't know what he'd seen.

They stopped once they entered the market, giving Hawke a chance to catch her breath.

"Aveline," he began to say, but then clutched his stomach. "Uh oh."

"No, Carver, not now," Hawke groaned, but she knew what was coming. She hurried him behind Hubert's stall, and barely got out of the way before he vomited all over the pavement.

Hubert heard the retching, and came around the corner to glare at them. "This is the second time this week," he complained. "I have to pay those urchins to clean up your brother's mess."

"Send me a bill," Hawke said dismissively, and led Carver away.

Later, after she'd gotten her brother cleaned up and into his bed, she wondered if Carver had really seen Aveline with another man, or if it was just another one of his drunken delusions. However, considering how cross Aveline and Wesley had been with each other at lunch the other day, maybe it was true.

Hawke sighed. Was there really such a thing as true love? Was there anyone in Kirkwall that wasn't cheating on their spouses, or sneaking around having sex with Templars?

Isabela's words came back to her as she finished cleaning the bathing room, and prepared to draw her own bath.

_I knew that sweet heart of yours would would start beating for someone else._

Did she want it to? Did she want to risk heartache and betrayal by falling in love?

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

The dwarf in him always admired the stonework of the Gallows, but the Kirkwall resident in him made Varric uneasy as he walked through the dimly lit corridor. It didn't help his apprehension that Bianca had been taken from him at the entrance gate, a "necessary inconvenience" the Templar had told him, before he was allowed admittance to see the Peacekeeper. Interesting that having his crossbow with him was never an issue before, and now Varric was curious more than ever about the reason for the heightened security.

Passing between Meredith and Orsino's offices, Varric almost felt the waves of tension radiating between the two. Both doors were shut, but the dwarf swore he heard Meredith growling behind one, and Orsino sighing behind the other. He moved hurriedly beyond both, hoping to reach Malcolm's office before either one decided to see who was walking down the hall.

The guard at the Peacekeeper's door announced Varric's arrival, and the dwarf glared at him before entering Malcolm's office. Whatever low profile he was trying to keep by silently walking was now meaningless, as the guard's voice echoed throughout the hall. Malcolm smiled as he gestured for Varric to take a seat before nodding to his guard to leave them alone.

"If this is the way it's going to be when I have to report in," Varric began as the guard closed the door, "then we're meeting at the estate from now on."

Malcolm snuffled a laugh. "Yes, you do look quite naked without that crossbow strapped to your back."

"I feel naked," Varric said. "And her name is Bianca, as you well know." He studied the Malcolm's worried expression for a moment. "Is there trouble? What's with the added precautions?"

The Peacekeeper ran his hand through his darkened hair. "Rumors of threats mostly, which is why I'm glad you're here, though I assume you've come to report on what happened with the Dalish? Since your trip to Sundermount, I haven't seen my daughter for more than five minutes to discuss it."

Varric chuckled. "Yeah, Amber's been keeping herself pretty busy these days."

"Anders," Malcolm stated, though his tone hinted that he wanted details.

"I mean no disrespect," Varric said, "but I think Carver has been a bigger reason for her recent distractions, more than the Warden apostate."

"You know you are always free to speak your mind, Varric," Malcolm said as he stood to stare out the window. "I am well aware of my son's... struggles. As of late, though, I had hoped our recent discussion about his behavior would have convinced him to slow down."

Varric wasn't certain how to respond to the internal struggles of the Hawke family, so he returned to Malcolm's original question. "Anders has maintained a respectful distance, though I think that's more because of you than her. I did invite him to visit the Dalish with us, but even then he was the perfect gentleman." Varric didn't add the bit about Anders ogling Malcolm's daughter just before they left. The Peacekeeper didn't need to know everything.

Malcolm turned to look at Varric. "And Amber, I imagine, has not."

Varric shook his head. "I'll never speak ill of her, you know this."

"I know," Malcolm said as he returned to his desk. "She trusts you, and respects you, as do I. Which is why," he sat down and looked Varric directly in the eye, "I'm going to insist you take my daughter to the Deep Roads, for your brothers expedition."

Varric's mouth opened to speak, and for the first time in a while, the dwarf could not find words to say.

"The threat I spoke of earlier was directed toward my family," Malcolm continued. "Though I do not like the idea of Amber joining you to face the darkspawn, I fear the Deep Roads may be safer than Kirkwall right now."

"And the rest of the family, they safe?" Varric asked, keeping his tone casual.

Malcolm nodded. "Leandra remains at the estate, which is guarded. Bethany is in... capable hands, when she isn't at home. And Carver is being watched. None of them are aware, however, and I prefer it remain that way. If someone is going to make a move on my family, they need to be free to do so in order to draw them out."

"Amber is quite capable of defending herself," Varric stated. "Should you wish to draw them out..."

"I will not use my daughter as bait, Tethras," Malcolm replied. "For the moment, I suspect this is no more than a threat made in the heat of anger," he continued. "But should it escalate, I want her out of the city."

Varric raised a brow. "And not the others. Which leads me to believe that what you aren't telling me is that Amber was the real target of this threat."

"You should consider taking Anders as well," Malcolm continued, ignoring Varric's prodding. "Once his friend is escorted from Kirkwall by the Wardens, he may become a target as well, for interfering in Gallows business. I won't say more on the matter, but yes, I believe the two are connected."

Varric knew not to push Malcolm for more information, but he could piece together that Hawke's involvement in freeing Karl probably pushed a few buttons within the Templar ranks, and maybe within the Circle as well. If Malcolm wanted both Hawke and Anders out of Kirkwall, he probably suspected the source of the threats, and needed time to deal with the situation without worrying about his family.

"I'll do what I can," Varric said. "Although you know Amber, she'll grow suspicious the moment I tell her she can go. I've been denying her request for weeks."

"You are a master storyteller, Varric," Malcolm said. "I'm sure you'll think of something to convince her why you've changed your mind. And what of the Dalish?"

"Their Keeper, Marethari, has agreed to a meeting, and will arrive in Kirkwall tomorrow, three hours past sunrise," Varric informed him. "She also said you should destroy the artifact."

Malcolm nodded. "I will prepare her welcome, and get the Templars and mages on the artifact. And Amber's interaction with them?"

"It took some prodding," Varric said, "but diplomatic as always on your behalf."

A proud-filled smile curled Malcolm's lips. "Glad to hear it, though I'd expect no less from her." Malcolm reached into his desk drawer and withdrew a coin pouch which he tossed at Varric. "The agreed upon sum for your time."

Varric smiled at the sound of coin within his hand. He knew by weight alone it contained at least five sovereign. "A pleasure doing business with you, Peacekeeper," the dwarf said as he stood. "Now if you'll forgive me, I don't trust those Templars with Bianca for very long."

"I understand," Malcolm said, mindlessly running his fingers along his staff that rested beside him against the wall. "Tell your brother to come see me, and soon. Add how unhappy I'll be if I have to seek him out, instead."

Varric laughed. "I'm sure Bartrand will piss himself at the mere mention of your name. I'll enjoy delivering that message."

"As long as he cleans himself up before he arrives," Malcolm said. "And Varric," he added, "tell Amber nothing of this threat. Understood?"

Varric nodded before exiting the office, a quickness in his step inspired by an eagerness to retrieve his weapon. Now he had to come up with a convincing story for Hawke about the Deep Roads, one she wouldn't see through.

That would be an interesting challenge.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

Hawke moved hesitantly through Darktown, her eyes darting constantly to the shadows that seemed to eerily move in her peripheral vision. She knew it was a mistake visiting the underbelly of Kirkwall alone, but she was determined to find Anders without subjecting herself to the lectures her friends no doubt would bestow upon her. She moved swiftly toward the familiar face of Tomwise, and his stall of poisons.

"Ah, Amber, a welcome sight in the dust and grime of the dark," Tomwise said when he greeted her. "Back so soon for more? I'm afraid I haven't replenished the deathroot you purchased the other day, but if you give me some time..."

Hawke cut him off with a wave of her hand and presented him with the pack she had slung across her shoulder. "Not buying today, friend. Returning a favor." She dumped the contents of the pack onto the table. "A few things I picked up recently, mostly around Sundermount."

The elven merchant's eyes lit up as he perused the large quantity of deep mushroom and glitterdust. "This is more than what I gave you in deathroot," he began. "Anything you wish that I have, name it and it is yours!"

"How about information?" Hawke asked with a sly smile.

Tomwise nodded. "If I possess the knowledge, certainly."

"The mage healer," Hawke said. "I know he lives around here somewhere. Would you happen to know?"

"That I can easily provide," Tomwise said cheerfully. "Down those stairs and to the left," he pointed. "Look for the door with the lit lantern above, the healer is within. Be careful along the way serah, some of the inhabitants of Darktown may see you as an easy target to pick up some extra coin."

Hawke placed her hand on the hilt of her dagger. "They can try my friend, they can try." With another quick smile she made her way down the stairs, keeping her eyes out for pickpockets and shady characters.

As confident as she'd sounded when she spoke to Tomwise, Hawke wasn't very comfortable moving through Darktown on her own. The residents of the grimmest part of Kirkwall, if you could even call people slumming in the alleys _residents_, were either sick from disease, skinny from malnutrition, or aggressive and dangerous from their daily struggles to survive. The children had the worst of it; those in Hightown could always be heard giggling or playing on the stoned ground, but these children merely sat on the dirty floor, staring at her with wide eyes as she moved past. Hawke made a mental note to speak to her father about this, to see what was being done for these families.

Rounding the corner to yet another flight of stairs, Hawke again felt as though she were being followed. Looking ahead, she saw the double-doors with the lit lantern above, and quickened her pace. When heavy footsteps behind her increased their rhythm as well, Hawke turned quickly to confront whoever it was, but only the smoke of kicked up dirt could be seen. Her grip tightened on her dagger as she continued to move, but suddenly three men came out of the shadows and blocked her path.

"I don't know about you, boys," one man said, "but this one doesn't look like she belongs down here with the likes of us."

"Nope," another said, holding a long piece of wood in his hand. "How much you think she's got on her?"

"Enough to feed us for a month, at least," the third said, as they moved closer.

Hawke quickly surveyed her surroundings, looking for an escape. "Three of you attacking a woman? Has Darktown stripped you of your manners as well?" she said, trying to buy herself time to come up with a plan.

"So if we say please, you'd give up all your coin?" one of them said. "I don't think so."

"Name your price," Hawke said, reaching for her coin purse. The men stared blankly at each other, not expecting this reaction, and Hawke used that to her advantage to retrieve a flask from her pocket instead. Before the men could react, Hawke threw down a shock bomb, startling them, and she used the smoke from the effect to slip behind them, now only inches from her destination.

"You'll pay for that, bitch," one of the men said, stuttering from the bomb's effect. The one holding the piece of wood lunged for Hawke, and she ducked out of the way a split second before the wood came in contact with the door, the impact causing a ringing in Hawke's ear. She hit the ground, rolling just out of reach of the third man, who had lunged at her, trying to grab her around the waist. With the hilt of her dagger, Hawke slammed the back of his knee, causing him to cry out in pain and fall to the ground.

The other two hovered over her now as she tried to inch away from them, and one bent down to grasp her ankle, in a surprisingly quick move. Hawke countered the attempt, and used her other leg to kick the man under the chin, sending him backward, a stream of curses falling from his lips. The one who had called her a _bitch_ began laughing as he stared down at her. "Feisty one, aren't ya," he said.

"You have no idea," Hawke replied silkily. She grabbed a handful of dirt beneath her and threw it in his face, before jumping to her feet and pulling out her other dagger. "I suggest you walk away now, before I'm forced to actually hurt you."

"Still three on one, little lady," one of them said, as they regrouped and cornered her again.

"Not anymore," a voice came from behind them, and a second later the three men were thrown back several feet away from Hawke. Two slammed against the wooden wall, while the other landed on his back on the hard ground with a loud grunt of pain.

Hawke saw Anders standing in the doorway under the lit lanterns, the orb on the tip of his staff glowing brightly. "You will not harm her," he warned the men, pointing his staff in their direction.

"We.. we didn't know she was with you!" one of the attackers insisted, trying and failing to get on his feet.

Anders placed himself between the men and Hawke. "Now you know. Let everyone else know as well, this woman is not to be harmed. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, yes healer," another said as he stood, helping his friends. When they all were back on their feet, they ran up the stairs and out of sight, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

Anders turned to Hawke, looking over her for any sign of injuries. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" he asked.

Hawke shook her head, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins causing her to shake involuntarily. She looked up at him, as if seeing him for the first time. "Anders?"

Anders put his arm around her. "Come on, let's get you inside."

* * *

_written by Fenzev and Wintryone_

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing, favoriting and following! We really appreciate it, and hope you're having as much fun with Amber as we are :)**


	8. Chapter 8

"What exactly were you thinking, coming to Darktown alone?" Anders asked, frustration clear in every syllable.

Hawke shrugged. "That I'd come by and say hello? I know I wasn't invited, but ask anyone, I tend to do what I want, and no, I don't always think it through beforehand."

"You were lucky," Anders continued. "Had I not been here..."

"But you were," she said with a smile. "My hero, come to save the day."

Anders shook his head, hardly believe she could be so calm and flippant. "Didn't save you from getting hurt, though," he added, watching with concern as she limped across the floor.

Hawke sat on one of the wooden crates, wincing as she did so. The hiss of pain she attempted to stifle through her teeth caught Anders attention.

"Let me see," Anders said, closing the distance between them.

Hawke waved her hand dismissively. "It's nothing, really. Just a bruise. I'll be fine in a few days."

"Nothing can turn into _something_ all too quickly if left untreated," Anders said, crossing his arms. "Does your sister let you walk around wounded?"

"My sister isn't much of a healer," Hawke explained with a sigh. "The only training she's received has been from my father, and he specializes in entropy and force, rather than spirit and creation."

Anders lifted one eybrow. "That's... surprising, actually. Entropy relies more on the chaotic nature of the Fade. Given his demeanor and title, I would've thought differently."

Hawke's smile widened. "I'm sure many people assume as much, which I'm sure my father uses to his advantage whenever the need arises. It's a serious mistake to underestimate him."

"Indeed, as I already did," Anders admitted ruefully. "You know Amber, your knowledge of magic is impressive."

"I may not be a mage, but I was raised by one. Father made it mandatory for both Carver and I to sit in on Bethany's lessons growing up. _Knowledge is power,_ he used to say. While he was teaching my dear sister how to use and control her magic, he was teaching us how to defend against it." Hawke suddenly winced, and adjusted her position to alleviate the throbbing ache in her thigh.

"Must you be so stubborn?" Anders asked, extending his hand to her.

Hawke reluctantly accepted his assistance and stood. "Fine," she said. "But you'd better lock the doors, so no one walks in on us in a compromising position." Her persistent smile turned mischievous. "Unless of course, you don't mind that sort of thing."

Anders cast her a questioning glance, but said nothing as he moved to secure the doors. Hawke unbuckled her armor, letting it fall to the floor with a loud thud, and when Anders turned to face her again, she was clad in only a thin white shirt and her trousers. When she untied the rope belt and began pushing her pants below her waist, Anders turned away, a flush burning his cheeks.

Hawke couldn't help but laugh at his sudden shyness. "How else did you imagine healing a bruise on my thigh?" she asked. "Really Anders, I've already told you that I don't bite. And remember, you insisted on this, not me."

He had insisted, and now Anders nearly regretted it. The way she was bent over his table, her long legs exposed, taunting him, it took all of his strength to ignore the growing discomfort hidden beneath his robes. He imagined himself running his hand along those calves, up her inner thigh, and it wasn't until he saw just how serious her wound was that he was able to calm himself.

"Maker, how did this happen?" he asked, focusing his attention on her bruised and bloodied flesh.

Hawke followed his gaze to her thigh, seeing the damage for herself for the first time. "No wonder it hurts," she said with a small chuckle. "I think it was when one of them pushed me to the ground. I skidded across the stone, then continued to push myself away from him. Now that I think about it, I may have landed on one of my hidden daggers."

Anders retrieved a cloth and sterile water to clean the wound. "Self impalement?"

"Don't tell Varric," Hawke said. "He'd never let me live it down."

"Your secret is safe with me," Anders told her as he moved a stool to sit beside her. "This may sting a little," he added, retrieving a potion from his pouch. "But I have to clean out the dirt and grit before healing the skin."

Hawke braced herself against the pain, looking away as Anders poured the contents of the flask onto the cloth. "Take my mind off it," she said. "Tell me what brought you to Kirkwall. Was it Karl?"

"In part, yes," Anders said as he began tending to her wound. "Before your father came up with the solution to secure his release through conscription, I was preparing for something a little more drastic." He purposefully avoided her gaze and concentrated on his efforts. "I also came here to escape the Wardens. No outposts in the area, and plenty of refugees to blend in with. Though, now that I've sent word about Karl, they'll know I'm here."

"You won't be leaving with them when they come for Karl?" Hawke asked, and then hissed from the application of the antiseptic potion Anders was applying to her leg.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Nearly there."

"It's fine," she replied, though he could hear the tightness in her voice.

"And no, to answer your question," Anders said. "I will not be returning to the Wardens."

Hawke turned her head to look at him. "Really? I was under the impression that you and Karl... well, were more than... friends, let's just say."

Anders retrieved a second cloth, and sat back to meet her gaze. "Growing up in the Circle, everything is about order and rules. The apprentices... we found ways to make it bearable. Karl and I, well, he was the first. Together we forgot about being nothing but slaves to the Templars. We haven't been a couple for a long time, but he's still a good friend, and I'd do anything to keep him safe."

"Well, we have that in common," Hawke said, still peering at him over her shoulder.

Anders kept his focus on his work, meticulously cleaning out each bit of grit from the wound. "What's that, same-sex relationships?"

Hawke laughed. "No, doing anything to keep our friends safe. But I suppose that's true as well, though I wouldn't call what Isabela and I have a _relationship_. I'm not sure Isabela could even say the word with a straight face."

"Then why bother?" Anders asked, setting aside the second cloth. If Hawke wasn't in love with Isabela...

"Everyone needs comfort," Hawke told him, and he heard something new in her voice. Sadness? Regret? "You said so yourself, being with Karl was an escape. Maybe Isabela is mine."

Now it was Anders who laughed, but with little humor. "And just why do you need to escape? From where I'm sitting, you have the perfect life. Surrounded by friends, a loving, supportive family, the ability to walk free in Kirkwall, knowing no one will touch you because of who your father is. What could you possibly need an escape from?"

"Not everything is always as it seems, Anders," Hawke replied quietly.

He glanced up, and took a moment to read her expression. Yes, it was sadness, something he had never seen on her pretty face before. "No, I suppose not," he agreed, but pushed her no further. Every time he thought he had a handle on who this woman was, she surprised him, yet again. It seemed there was still a lot he didn't know about Amber Hawke, but then again, he had a few secrets of his own.

"Almost done?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts. "It's getting a bit chilly, standing here with no pants on."

Anders nodded with a smile, trying to keep a healer's detachment despite her pantless state. "Almost. A bit of magic and you'll be as good as new."

The warmth of his magic washed over her, and Hawke closed her eyes, enjoying the way her skin tingled from his energy. He focused on the large gash first, knitting her skin back together, and then relieved her of the bruising that flawed her pale skin. Within moments the shades of purple and blue disappeared, and her skin was left only with a slight redness from his touch.

"The soreness may linger for a few hours," Anders cautioned her, once he was finished.

"I'm used to being a little sore," she teased as she stepped into her trousers.

Anders stood and busied himself, putting away his supplies while she dressed. He glanced over at her for a moment as she reached down to retrieve her armor, and saw her shirt ride up slightly in the back. Along the base of her spine he noticed a large scar, and another that disappeared around her ribcage. Even if her sister and father weren't trained in healing magic, they should've been able to at least minimize the scarring. These wounds, from what he could see, were clearly left to heal on their own.

"How did you get those?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

She turned to look at him, following his gaze. "Don't you know it's not polite to point out a woman's flaws?" Hawke asked, though there was no trace of anger in her tone. Quickly she pulled down her shirt and began putting on her armor. "Care to escort me to the Hanged Man? Or must I brave the terrors of Darktown again by myself?"

Anders took her hint and didn't pursue the matter. "I will accompany you," he said in answer to her question. "Though by this time tomorrow, the locals will know to leave you alone."

"Is that an invitation to come see you again?" Hawke teased, a slight twinkle in her eye.

"At the very least, I expect you to come to the clinic the next time you're injured," Anders replied seriously.

"Be careful what you offer," Hawke said as she brushed past him toward the door. "I may find myself becoming deliberately clumsy."

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

When Hawke walked into his suite with Anders in tow, Varric quickly assembled a properly disgruntled expression on his face. If he had any hope at all of convincing her of his cleverly constructed lie, he needed to act the part, not just say the words.

Hawke took one look at him and said, "You look like you need a pint, my friend." She pulled out a chair and sat down next to him at the table. "What's going on? I haven't seen you look this depressed since Corff turned down your offer to buy a share the Hanged Man."

Varric snorted, glad that Hawke had given him a real memory to feel grumpy about. It made his job that much easier.

"It's nothing for you to worry over, Rosebud," said Varric. He glanced up at the mage who still hovered by the door. "Sit down, Blondie. You're making me tired just watching you fidget."

"I was not fidgeting," Anders replied, but he did at least take the seat next to Hawke.

"Let's hear it, Varric," Hawke insisted. "You know you can't keep anything from me."

"Hmph. How would you know if I did?" he smirked.

Hawke's own sly grin curved her lips. "I have my ways, dwarf. Now, spill it."

He studied her through squinted eyes for a moment, drawing out the effect that he was reluctant to tell her. Varric brought his index finger to his mouth and tapped on his lips, stalling even further. "Maybe you could help me…" he eventually drawled out, and he noticed the immediate gleam in her eyes. Hawke was a problem solver if ever there was one, and he knew just how to put the bait out for her to nibble.

"Of course I can help," she replied. "Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it."

"You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" offered Anders.

Hawke simply winked at him and turned back to Varric expectantly.

"Would you consider…" he began, scratched his chin, then shook his head. "No..."

"Consider what?" Hawke pushed.

Varric counted to ten before he replied, causing Hawke to squirm in her seat. He sighed heavily. "Consider perhaps making me a loan?"

The surprise on her face was almost comical. In all the years they'd been friends, he'd never once asked her for money, so there's no way she would have been expecting it now. However, the surprise turned almost immediately to suspicion, a common trait among the very rich whenever coin was involved.

"How much and for what?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

"Fifty sovereigns," Varric replied succinctly.

Anders whistled through his teeth at the mention of such a large amount of gold.

"For…" Hawke prompted.

"You wound me," he told her in a mock-sad voice. "I thought you trusted me."

Hawke didn't reply, only crossed her arms and glared at him.

Varric purposefully mumbled his response in a way Hawke could not possibly understand.

"Varric," she warned.

"Deep Roads," he said more clearly, with just the right amount of snark added in. "There, you happy?"

"I've tried to bribe my way in several times," said Hawke. "You told me you were covered."

"Andraste's ass!" exclaimed Anders. "You want to go to the Deep Roads? Are you insane?"

Varric grinned. "See, Rosebud? You don't want to go, take it from an expert."

Hawke ignored them both. "Why do you suddenly need the coin, Varric? What changed?"

Varric sighed again. Loudly and dramatically, if he did say so himself. "Cheese."

"Cheese?" repeated Hawke, and Anders let out a short laugh.

"If you must know, Bartrand invested all our coin in cheese, a ship full of the smelly stuff," he explained. "It was due to arrive from Ferelden this week, make us a shitload of gold."

"Was due?" asked Hawke. "What happened?"

"Storm at sea, the cheese was lost, I'm broke," he said, with just the right hint of petulance in his tone.

"A shipload of cheese? Do they even make cheese in Ferelden?" Anders asked with a disbelieving laugh. He opened his mouth to say more, but Varric gave him a swift kick under the table. "Ouch!"

The second Hawke turned her head to see what had made the mage exclaim, Varric very slightly shook his head, and drew a finger across his throat.

"Are you alright?" Hawke asked Anders.

He glared at the dwarf, before giving Hawke a weak smile. "Fine, just hit my knee under the table, is all."

When Hawke turned back to Varric, there was a worried expression on her lovely features. "What about the crew? Tell me they didn't all drown."

Varric could have kicked himself. He'd neglected to consider his Rosebud's soft heart. "Oh no, not a hand lost," he improvised. "They were picked up by an Amaranthine merchant ship within a few hours." He held his breath waiting to see if he'd gone too far.

Fortunately, Hawke's face cleared, and then she smiled. "So you need me to loan you the coin." It wasn't a question.

"Just a loan," Varric agreed. "I'll pay you back the minute I return, loaded with fabulous treasure." He knew she had the fifty sovereigns, too, because he'd been the one to handle the transaction when she'd received her coming-of-age inheritance from her Amell grandparents.

"Come off it, Varric," she said, and his heart skipped a beat, afraid she was about to call him out. He noticed a pleased smirk cross Anders' features.

"What?" he asked, attempting to keep up the charade. "You know I'm good for it."

Hawke leaned forward in her chair and rested her chin on her hands. Her smile was deadly sweet. "You want the coin? You'll take me with you."

"Rosebud, no," said Varric.

"Amber, no," echoed Anders.

"Yes," she said complacently. "Those are my terms, take them or leave them."

Varric slowly shook his head, and turned his mouth down in a most impressive frown. "Can't do it, you know that. Malcolm would have my hide if anything happened to you."

"Let me worry about dear daddy," replied Amber. "And myself."

Varric watched as Anders laid a hand on her shoulder. "Listen to the dwarf, Amber. You don't want to go down there. I guarantee you it's the last thing you'd ever want to do."

For a minute, Varric was worried, because instead of biting his head off, Hawke was looking at Anders with real consideration. They'd barely met, and already the mage was capable of influencing her? Interesting.

Softly, she said, "I have to do this, Anders. Have to do something on my own, prove myself…"

"Against darkspawn? Are you mad?" he nearly shouted.

Immediately, Varric knew the mage had made a fatal error. Hawke's back stiffened and a haughty look of displeasure crossed her face. When she wanted to, Hawke could pull of noble snobbery with the best of them. "I assure you, I am perfectly sane."

When she looked back at Varric, he had to stifle a pleased grin. With a little bit of unexpected help from Anders, he knew it was safe to give in now.

"Terms, Varric. What say you?" Hawke asked.

It was easy enough to frown at her, and shake his head as if he'd been beaten. "All right, Rosebud," he said reluctantly. "But no interest on the loan, we clear?"

"Perfectly," Hawke said with a wide smile. "When do we leave?"

They spent some time discussing some of the particulars, while Anders sat quietly fuming. Varric really needed a private word with the mage, so he was relieved when Isabela popped her head into the room.

"Amber!" she said. "I've been looking all over for you." She rushed into the room and grabbed Hawke by the hand and tugged. "Come on, sweet thing. There's a sexy Antivan downstairs doing knife tricks that you've just got to see."

With a shrug and a laugh, Hawke allowed herself to be drawn away. Anders also rose to leave, but Varric stopped him with a word.

"Sit," was all he said.

As if he'd finally been given permission to voice his opinion, Anders immediately went into a tirade. "You can't let her go down there," he said. "She has no idea what she's getting into. It's not just the darkspawn… there are other things down there. Worse things, maybe."

"You finished?" Varric asked.

"No! Why you would ever agree to…" Anders went on, but Varric interrupted him.

"Because Malcolm asked me to," he said without fanfare. "Amber's life is in danger, and we need to get her out of Kirkwall for awhile."

Of all the things he'd expected the mage to say next, what came out of his mouth completely surprised him. "Then I'm going, too," he said in a way that brooked no argument.

Which was fine with Varric, he had no desire to argue. In fact, he was feeling entirely pleased with himself. Two birds with one stone, and all that.

"I guess having a healer along wouldn't be a bad idea," Varric said casually. "If you insist."

Anders pressed his fingers to his forehead and slowly shook his head. "I can't believe I'm volunteering to go down into the blighted Deep Roads," he said. "I swore I'd never go back there again."

"No one's twisting your arm, Blondie," said Varric.

Anders looked up at him sharply. "What's your game, dwarf? What aren't you saying here?"

Uh oh, thought Varric, wondering if he'd taken his careless attitude a bit too far. Anders reminded him a little bit too much of himself in that moment, and for once, he decided to play it straight. He nodded once, as if agreeing with himself. "This is where we find out if I can trust you," Varric told Anders. "You get this one chance, Blondie. Don't blow it."

"Fair enough," Anders agreed. "I guess that works both ways, doesn't it?"

Varric chuckled. "It always does." He considered his next words carefully. "First off, you can't tell Amber that her trip to the Deep Roads has been sanctioned and approved by the Peacekeeper of Kirkwall."

"Why not?" Anders ask.

"Because then she wouldn't want to go, of course," Varric replied. "Secondly, even though I wasn't told exactly who threatened her, it's been hinted to me that it involves you, and Karl."

It was the strangest thing, Varric could have sworn he'd seen a glint of blue in the mage's brown eyes for a second there. He shelved his questions for now, but would pay better attention from here on out.

"Of course," muttered Anders, looking away from him. "Bloody Templars. They can't stand losing a chance to make a mage tranquil."

As much as Varric would have liked to argue, he knew Anders wasn't far from wrong. There were some good Templars, loyal to Malcolm Hawke and protective of their mage charges, but Meredith and her cronies were of the worst sort, always looking for reasons to go to extremes.

"Whatever the reason, and whoever made the threat, the simple truth is, it'll be a good thing if both you and Amber get out of this city for awhile," Varric said seriously.

Anders nodded slowly, his expression just as serious, before it suddenly transformed into shocked chagrin. "My clinic," he said. "What about my patients? I can't leave them..."

"Relax, Blondie," Varric said. "You have connections now. I'm sure some mage or another will just happen to turn up at the clinic to fill in while you're away."

"You're kidding, right?" Anders asked with a nervous little laugh.

"Nope. Dead serious," replied Varric. "Get used to it. The fun has just barely begun."

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

Varric was disappointed when he didn't find a shock of white hair and a pair of very pointed ears as he sauntered down to the bar. That meant he had a long trudge up to Hightown in his immediate future, and he gazed longingly at the tray of pints Norah carried across the room to where Hawke sat with Isabela, watching the Antivan and his fancy knife tricks.

That wasn't surprising. What was surprising was that he could have easily squeezed between them and taken a seat on the low bench himself. It had been a long time since he'd seen those two together when they weren't draped all over each other.

Things were certainly changing.

Varric shook his head and walked out into the Lowtown night.

Luck was with him, or more likely, Hawke had been on patrol recently, because his trip to the dilapidated mansion, which Fenris now owned - he still could hardly believe that one - was uneventful.

He thought it was a coin toss whether the elf would agree to his little proposition, but hey, nothing ventured, as they say.

Fenris was at home, and answered the door with an amused expression on his face.

"I've been expecting you," he said by way of a greeting as he ushered the dwarf into the entryway.

"Is that so?" Varric replied in a disbelieving tone as he glanced around. "I like what you've done with the place, elf."

It was shocking, really. Varric wasn't sure where the elf had gotten the coin, though a certain dark-haired rogue came to mind. The place was spotless, the corpses long gone, the furniture repaired and a new tapestry depicting a woodland scene graced the long wall centered between the stairways. It was quite the transformation.

Thank you, dwarf," Fenris said off-handedly. "Have a seat."

Varric sat down on a newly upholstered sofa and made himself comfortable. His spirits lifted considerably when Fenris procured a bottle of red wine and two silver goblets.

"How much?" Fenris asked as he handed a full goblet to Varric.

Varric lifted one eyebrow. "Do those tattoos give you mind reading powers?" he quipped.

"Come now, dwarf," said Fenris. "You plan to journey to one of the most dangerous places in all of Thedas." He studied Varric for a brief time. "And despite appearances, you are not stupid. Of course you would seek out the best warrior in the city to accompany you."

Varric ignored the jibe and inhaled the wine's heady aroma, then took a long drink before replying, "Ten sovereign and fifteen percent of whatever we find down there ."

Fenris chuckled. "If all we find are darkspawn, your offer isn't worth much."

"I guarantee you we'll find more than darkspawn," Varric returned, warming to the negotiation. This was the shit he lived for.

Several more glasses of wine later, the two shook hands on the agreed upon terms.

"Glad to have you aboard, elf," Varric said, and drained the last of his goblet. "It should be quite the adventure."

Fenris laughed. "Never mind the Deep Roads," he said. "It's always an adventure when Amber's involved."

Varric grinned and nodded. "Truer words never were spoken."

* * *

_Written by Fenzev and Wintryone_


	9. Chapter 9

"You smell like her," Leandra complained, as Malcolm slid next to her beneath the covers. "At least you could have bathed."

"I'm sorry, my love," he replied wearily. "It was an exhausting day."

"I don't want to hear about how having sex with _her_ made you tired," Leandra whined, and scooted farther away from him in the large bed.

"Really, Leandra, you have no right to be so peevish. You agreed that my involvement with Meredith was essential to protect the mages." He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. "And if you must know, my brief encounter with Meredith is not the cause of my exhaustion."

Leandra thought of her precious Bethany, the whole reason she'd agreed to Malcolm's wretched affair with the Knight Commander, in the first place. Her voice petulant, she asked, "Do tell, what task has made you so weary?"

For several minutes, Malcolm didn't answer, and Leandra was almost certain he'd fallen asleep. When he spoke at last, she nearly jumped.

"I've been assuring the safety of one of Kirkwall's most important citizens," he told her softly.

"And who would that be?" she asked. "The Viscount? The Grand Cleric?"

But this time, Malcolm did not answer.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

While Varric was busy organizing plans for the expedition, and Anders was pacing the floor of his clinic wondering just what he'd gotten himself into, Hawke was having a mini-meltdown in her bedroom.

She knew she was procrastinating, and had no doubt that it would be better to just get it over with, but the thought of telling her father that she was going off to the Deep Roads into unknown danger had her very much on edge.

Yes, he encouraged her to make her own way in the world, and he'd never refused her anything she'd asked for, but she feared this time would be different. It would be her first trip away from home, and it wasn't as if she were planning a vacation to sample the good life in Orlais. No, she was planning to risk her life, all for the sake of wealth and fame, things which most people would assume she had quite enough of already.

Most people, however, did not have all the facts when it came to Hawke's life. Not even her own family did.

Hawke took a deep breath and marched to the door, as if she were going to battle. Before she could turn the knob, however, the door burst open and a tousle-haired Bethany came barging into her room.

"Sister!" Bethany exclaimed. "I need you to go to that wretched seamstress and force her to finish my gown today! The Viscount's ball is tonight, and I can't possibly wear something everyone has seen before!"

Hawke's heart sank. She'd forgotten all about the Viscount's ball, distracted as she was by the recent turn of events. Her own gown was hanging neglected in the closet, in hopes that she'd never have to wear the thing.

"Calm down, Bethany," Hawke said, attempting to soothe her agitated sibling. "I'm sure you'll have your dress in time."

"She's horrid, that woman. The last gown she made for me gaped horribly at the waist. I just know she'll have ruined this one, too," Bethany said, practically sobbing.

"I'll go, I promise," Hawke replied, putting an arm around her sister's shoulders and leading her from the room. "Have Mother make you some tea, and leave the rest to me."

Bethany sniffled. "Alright, Amber. But promise me you'll go this morning in case I need alterations."

Once Bethany was mollified, and under Leandra's care in the kitchen, Hawke pushed thoughts of the ball out of her mind and went in search of her father. When she opened the door to his study, however, it was Carver sitting at the desk instead of Malcolm. As usual, his eyes were puffy and bloodshot, but at least he appeared to be clean.

"Where's Father?" Hawke asked as she closed the door behind her. "And what are you doing up at this hour?"

Carver sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Father left for the Gallows about an hour ago," he replied, then held a piece of parchment up for Hawke's inspection. "Just look at this. How could a few drinks cost so much?"

Hawke read the invoice from the Hanged Man and whistled through her teeth. "Thirty sovereigns? That's excessive even for you, Brother."

"How am I supposed to pay for it?" he whined. "Father has cut me off, and I can't touch my inheritance for two more years."

Hawke flopped down in a chair. "Get a job?"

Carver snorted. "Right. Who in their their right mind would hire me?"

"You've got a point," Hawke said. Really, she didn't need to take on even more of her brother's problems. She had enough to worry about at the moment. "Maybe if you'd lay off the drink, Father would relent and help you out."

"You think?" he asked sincerely, but then shook his head in immediate denial. "What would I do then? Sit around and listen to Mother and Bethany talking nonsense all day?" He looked up at Hawke, and for the first time, she saw real fear in his eyes. "What am I going to do?"

For a brief moment, Hawke considered taking him along on the expedition, but only briefly. With no skills, and his addictions to wine and women, there was no way he'd be anything but a detriment.

"Sorry, Brother," she said. "Like the rest of us, you've got to figure out what you want out of life and then go for it."

"Easy for you to say," he said, his voice surly. "You always get what you want."

Hawke stood. "Yes, and I work hard for it, too," she replied, sick of his complaining. "I've got to go."

Knowing that she'd likely have to wait until tomorrow to talk to her father, Hawke went in search of the wretched seamstress.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

Knight Captain Cullen approached the Peacekeeper's office with a hint of trepidation. In his hand, he held a missive from Grey Warden outpost at Montsimmard, in Orlais. He hoped the letter contained a confirmation of their imminent arrival, rather than a delay, or worse yet, a refusal to conscript the circle mage.

Cullen took a deep breath, and knocked at the door.

"Enter," came Malcolm's deep baritone.

"Peacekeeper," Cullen said formally upon entering the room. "Word for Montsimmard has arrived." He held out the parchment to Malcolm.

The Peacekeeper broke the seal and inspected the contents. A slow smile crossed his face. "There was a slight delay, but a company of Grey Wardens will be here in three days time."

Cullen's relief was palpable. "Good news," he said.

Malcolm looked up and studied the Knight Captain's face. "Trouble?" he asked.

"I admit, it's been… a challenge," replied Cullen. "Ser Alrik dogs me night and day to regain custody of Enchanter Thekla."

"Should I have the Knight Commander speak to him?" asked Malcolm.

Cullen considered Malcolm's offer. With so much going on in the Gallows, and all his free time spent 'watching over' the Peacekeeper's daughter, he'd been running on empty these past few weeks. Yet, Cullen knew that bringing Meredith into the mix would only make matters worse. "Thank you, but no," he replied. "I can manage him for a few more days."

"Of that I am certain," said Malcolm agreeably. He shifted in his seat and folded his arms over his chest. "I've been also meaning to ask you if there's any news on Samson."

"Nothing of note," replied Cullen. "Although there are unsubstantiated rumours that he's had recent dealings with the Coterie."

"Lyrium?" asked Malcolm.

"I've not been able to gather any real proof," said Cullen. "But, yes. I believe that's the case."

"Real proof is exactly what I'd like to have on the man," said Malcolm. "But all in good time. For now, you are well aware of your priorities, my friend."

Cullen nodded. He was more than aware that his highest priority was a certain delectable, insatiable mage. He felt a brief pang of disappointment that the Viscount's ball would interfere with their usual, nightly tryst. Perhaps they could sneak off…

The Peacekeeper's voice interrupted his erotic musings. "...escort her safely back to Sundermount."

"Excuse me?" Cullen asked. He'd missed half of what Malcolm had been saying.

As if he knew exactly where the Knight Captain's mind had been, he gave Cullen a sly smile. "I said, after my meeting with the Dalish Keeper, I'd like you to personally escort her back to Sundermount."

Cullen bowed. "Of course, Peacekeeper," he said. "I will see to it."

"And I will see you at the Keep tonight," Malcolm added as he returned to the papers spread over his desk.

"Most certainly," replied Cullen respectfully, before exiting the office.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

"Ambrosia, dear," run down and fetch me a bottle of the 7:22 Aggregio," called Leandra from the parlor. "I'll never make it through the night without a cordial first."

Hawke sighed, grabbed a candle from the table, and lifting her long dress to keep from tripping, made her way carefully down the basement steps. Again, she could not understand why her Mother refused to hire servants. It was one of the few things upon which she and Bethany agreed.

She lifted the light as she inspected the rows of dusty bottles, looking for the one her mother wanted. 8:13 Antivan Red, 9:01 Orlesian White, Westhill Brandy. Everything but the Aggregio, it seemed. Hawke was just about to give up and grab a bottle of the red, when a slight glimmer from the far shadows caught her eye. Holding her candle aloft, she made her way over the uneven stone floor to the very back wall of the cellar.

What she saw shocked her. Where she remembered once seeing a planked wooden wall, now stood a large, metal door, held fast with a lever. Gingerly, she tugged at the slat, and it easily lifted in her hand.

She was just about to attempt opening the door, when her mother's voice called down the stairwell. "Ambrosia! We'll be late!"

Hawke grabbed the nearest bottle of red and ran as quickly up the stairs as her long dress would allow. When it came to hobnobbing with Kirkwall's finest, her mother could be worse than the Knight Commander about punctuality.

"Oh my," said Leandra, taking the bottle of wine from Hawke and setting it on an end table, already forgotten. "You'll have to change your slippers, those are filthy now."

Hawke looked down at her feet, and saw two tiny specks of dust on her black satin shoes, which she quickly brushed away. "It's fine, Mother," she said.

Leandra began to fuss with Hawke's gown, then. Straightening the soft folds of blue velvet that draped snuggly from her waist and over her hips, and tugging down at the black, vested bodice to show off more of her cleavage.

"Mother!" Hawke complained. She was in no mood to advertise her wares to Kirkwall's finest.

Fortunately, Bethany chose that moment to make her entrance down the stairway. Hawke had to admit, her sister was a vision of loveliness. Her black curls piled high on her head, with artfully placed strands framing her face, and her ivory dress, trimmed in silver thread, made her look like a princess. Once she reached the bottom, Bethany did a little twirl, and the soft folds of her skirt swirled around her ankles, even as the backless dress showed off much more skin than Hawke would have liked. The nobles of Kirkwall were far more lecherous than the worst drunks at the Hanged Man.

"My beautiful daughters!" Leandra exclaimed, tears of happiness brimming in her eyes. "I shall be the envy of every mother at the ball!"

Her father and brother both waited at the door to escort them, Carver for once looking the part of the gentlemen, dressed in his dark green finery. Malcolm wore his Peacekeeper's robes, as always. His was a job that he was never released from, even for a night of festivities.

Even though Hawke was no fan of balls, and even less of socializing with nobility, as they made their way out into the chilly spring evening, her major regret was that she would not see Anders that night. To dance with him might have made the whole ridiculous affair worthwhile.

* * *

_Written by Wintryone_


	10. Chapter 10

The Viscount's ball was in full swing, and after only two hours, Hawke had already fought off the groping advances of several drunken nobles. There was no one here that interested her, despite her mother's attempts to steer her in the direction of Saemus Dumar more than once. Hawke chuckled to herself at Leandra's blindness. She had known for the last five years that the Viscount's son preferred the company of men, never mind that he was currently swirling Bethany gracefully around the dance floor.

"Ambrosia, dear," came her mother's voice from behind her. Hawke turned to see Leandra being escorted by a tall man, his red-blond hair pulled back from his face in braids. "Allow me to introduce Gascard DuPuis, recently arrived from Val Royeaux."

The man's dress and bearing clearly indicated he was from a rich and powerful family, and though Hawke knew little of the hierarchy of Orlesian nobility, she had no doubt that Leandra was once again trying to match her with someone of high social standing.

"Messere DuPuis," Hawke said politely and gave him a small curtsy. "Welcome to the Free Marches."

Dupuis smiled ingratiatingly, and replied, "I would have come sooner, had I known what beauty awaited me here."

_Oh please_, Hawke thought, but outwardly she returned his smile. "What brings you to our fair city?" she asked.

Hawke was sure the looked of unease that crossed his handsome features had not been her imagination. He quickly recovered his smile, however, and said. "A bit of family business - nothing of consequence."

"Messere DuPuis's family is fourth in line to the throne, Ambrosia," said Leandra. "A fine noble family, indeed."

Hawke felt heat rise to her cheeks at her mother's blatant insinuation. DuPuis' smile once again faltered slightly, but in the next moment he was extending his hand to her.

"Would Mistress Hawke grant me the pleasure of a dance?" he asked.

Try as she might, Hawke could think of no valid excuse to refuse his polite offer, and soon found herself being escorted onto the dance floor. He was graceful, she'd give him that, but Hawke didn't care for the way his hands wandered over her back and around her ribcage as they waltzed across the floor.

"In Val Royeaux, at a ball such as this, we would all be wearing masks," he told her easily.

"Oh? And what would they be hiding behind those masks?" Hawke asked. She was running out of appropriately inane chatter, and couldn't suppress the sarcasm in her voice.

DuPuis chuckled low in his throat. "That, my lady, is not a topic of polite conversation."

"I've never been to Orlais," Hawke subtly changed the subject. "Though Mother has been begging Father for years to take us."

"Ah! Your presence would grace the courts," he replied. "Your father is Peacekeeper of Kirkwall, is he not?"

Hawke heard the not-so-subtle intensity in his voice as he asked about her father. Wanting nothing more to get away from him, she faked a slight stumble. "Oh my!" she exclaimed in her best simpering female voice. "I'm afraid there's something wrong with my shoe."

"Allow me to escort you to a seat," he said politely, though she could hear the undertone of impatience in his words.

As soon as DuPuis had deposited her in one of the many chairs lining the walls and left, Hawke returned to her feet, and quickly moved to the other side of the ballroom. Deciding one more glass of wine would do her no harm, Hawke signaled a waiter carrying a large tray covered in goblets, all filled with shimmering ruby colored liquid. The servant approached, lowering the tray so that she could easily reach the wine.

She'd just raised the glass to her lips when she caught Knight Captain Cullen's eye, where he stood near the buffet table, and gave him a commiserating smile. The Templar rolled his eyes, then beckoned for her to join him.

_Why not?_ she thought. Cullen was one of the few people in the room who wasn't a total bore, unlike Messere Gascard DuPuis.

There was a crowd of people mulling around the edges of the dance, and Hawke felt her frustration rise as she attempted to maneuver her way through them. Kirkwall's upper classes had perfected rudeness down to a science, blithely ignoring each 'pardon me' she uttered.

Perhaps her guard was down, being where she was, or perhaps she'd had too much wine after all. Whatever the reason, Hawke never saw the attack coming. Her goblet had been lifted high above her head to keep from sloshing it all over the noble finery as she pressed through the crowd. It made her vulnerable - an easy target for the blade that suddenly plunged into her chest.

Hawke gasped.

Even as the pain blossomed under her breasts, Hawke whipped her head around in time to see the face of her assailant. For a brief second their eyes met and held, and she saw the malevolent intent in them glaring at her in satisfaction. And then, she was falling, falling…

The last thing she heard before darkness overtook her was Cullen's voice shouting, "Halt!"

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

Malcolm Hawke also heard Cullen's shout, followed by several piercing shrieks of horror. His hand automatically reached for his staff as his head pivoted toward the source of the commotion. The Knight Captain was trying to force his way through the mass of panicking nobles, and Malcolm's eyes scanned the room, searching.

There, bobbing among the sea of bodies was a white-haired man, trying to force his way to the exit. The two guardsmen who flanked the wide doors had drawn their swords, effectlively blocking the man's escape, at least he hoped so. Yet, Malcolm still began to calculate his success in hitting the fleeing man with a binding spell, until a new scream diverted his attention.

"Ambrosia!" his wife's voice echoed through the cavernous ballroom. Malcolm's gaze instantly snapped to his Leandra, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a horde of white-faced nobles.

There, in a pool of gathering blood, lay his precious daughter.

"Amber." He hadn't known he'd said the word aloud until Viscount Dumar spoke at his side.

"Amber? What's happened?" Dumar asked in some alarm, and damned if the man didn't scoot behind Malcolm in an attempt to shield himself with Malcolm's body.

Malcolm, however, did not answer, but instead used his staff and the power of his voice to clear a path to his daughter. "Stand aside!" he commanded, and mercifully the way before him opened.

By the time he reached Leandra and Amber, a sobbing Bethany had joined them. Varric was also there standing guard, his crossbow drawn against any further threats. Malcolm ignored the fear worming its way up his spine, and his rapidly pounding heart, and with a clinical eye, inspected his daughter's wound. The hilt of a wicked looking dagger protruded from Amber's chest beneath her left breast, blood seeping from around its edges at an alarming rate.

"The healer," Malcolm told the dwarf, his voice hoarse. "Bring him to the estate."

Thankfully, Varric did not question him, but merely nodded, and with a last glance down at Hawke, took off in a near run.

"Malcolm, oh Malcolm," Leandra cried, her blood soaked hands clutching at him as he knelt next to her. "My baby. What have they done to my baby?"

"Carver!" Malcolm bellowed, and his son, pale-faced and shaking emerged from the crowd to join them.

Afraid to cause more damage by removing the knife, Malcolm focused his magic to stem the flow of blood, even as he told Carver, "Take your mother and sister home, son."

For once in his life, Carver did not whine or argue, but pulled his mother away from Hawke. Leandra continued to mewl Amber's name, but allowed her son to lead her away.

"Father?" questioned Bethany in a tremulous voice.

"Just go," Malcolm said, and with tears streaming down her face, Bethany followed after Carver and Leandra.

Sweat began to bead on his brow from his efforts, and Malcolm was glad when Cullen joined him not long after his family had departed. The Knight Captain's face was grim.

"I need you to carry her, Cullen," said. "I need to keep the wound in statis."

Cullen immediately acquiesced, and gently lifted Hawke into his arms. This time the crowd parted for them with ease.

"Her attacker?" Malcolm asked as they moved toward the doors.

"Even now being escorted to the dungeons by guardswoman Aveline," he replied succinctly.

"Good," was Malcolm's only reply. "Good."

Neither of them spoke another word as they made their way down the long stairway to the Hawke estate.

⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼ • ⧽❀⧼

Anders was bone weary. It had been a long, busy day at the clinic, made even more tiresome because his mind could hardly focus on his work.

He knew the Viscount's ball was tonight, and his wayward thoughts continually formed images of Hawke, beautiful and enticing, surrounded by nameless suitors, all better suited to court the Peacekeeper's daughter than an apostate mage living in the sewers.

Not that he wanted to court her himself. _No_. It was only that she deserved so much better than some mamby-pamby rich boy, who only wanted Hawke for her position and her gold.

Anders released a long sigh. Who was he trying to fool, anyway? Amber Hawke had gotten under his skin, even though he knew beyond doubt that getting involved with her was a very bad idea.

"A bit late for that now," he mumbled to himself as he placed the last vials of elfroot back into the cupboard.

Knowing it would lead only to disaster, however, did not stop either the tinge of jealousy in his heart, or the uncomfortable stirrings in his body. If only it weren't for…

BANG!

The clinic doors flew open, and in rushed a very harried looking dwarf.

"Let's go, Blondie," said Varric, impatience clear in every syllable.

"Varric, what the…" Anders began.

"No questions," he practically shouted. "Grab your healing shit and let's GO."

Anders tried several times as the ran through Kirkwall's streets to find out where they were going, but Varric remained silent, pushing them at a pace he could barely keep up with. How could the dwarf move so quickly on those short legs? By the time they reached the Hightown Market, Anders was out of breath and a sense of dread had built in his chest.

Why would Varric bring him to Hightown, of all places? Surely it couldn't be Hawke that needed him. What could possibly have happened to her at the Keep, surrounded by Templars and city guards?

Yet, soon they pushed through the door of the Hawke estate, to be greeted by A Templar. In fact, it was Knight Captain Cullen who stood there with his arms folded over his chest.

Usually the sight of a Templar alone was enough to set Anders on edge, but the fact that this one was covered in blood made it even worse. He was given no more time to speculate, however, as Cullen immediately grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the stairs.

"Come with me," said Cullen, as if Anders had a choice, considering the iron grip on his arm.

Anders could hear sobbing as they ascended to the second floor. Female sobbing. He got his first glimpse of who could only have been Hawke's mother, wrapped in the arms of a pretty dark-haired girl outside of a closed door. Both of them looked up at him as Cullen dragged him passed.

"That's the healer?" he heard the younger woman say from behind him.

But Anders had no time or thought to give to the derision in her voice, because the door had opened. There on the bed, the Peacekeeper bowed over her, was Amber Hawke.

Malcolm looked up at them as they entered the bedchamber, his face lined and drawn. "Quickly," he said in anguish. "I'm losing her."

* * *

_Written by Wintryone_

* * *

**_A/N: _**_Thanks to those who left me such lovely reviews last chapter! Make me smile, leave some more of them! lol_


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